oh for the love of yuengling.

i'm going to go ahead and preface this post by saying i am by no means an alcoholic. 

no really. i'm not just saying that. i do appreciate the occasional drink and, on the appropriate night, may indulge my thirst in whatever quantities necessary to quench it. when i go to the doctor's office, i still check off that little box of 1-2 drinks per week, and in every season but summer, that estimate tends to be pretty true. 

anyway, i digress. 

i did my weekly  bit of grocery this morning. grocery shopping in the city is no joke. time it wrong and you can end up in line for longer than it took you to gather all your ingredients for your tiramisu or, in my case, boxed pasta with prego. anyway, point being, in order to avoid the lines, i rolled out of bed at 7 am, put on a hat and made my way to the nearest grocery. 

i impressed myself by making a list ahead of time with the ingredients of the dishes i was intending to make for the week. realistically, i probably won't have the patience to make any of it and end of making an omelette with all the produce i bought. but i do admire my good intentions. anyway, while perusing the aisles i made the mistake of passing by the beer and wine aisle. i mean how can you avoid it, it's in the middle of the freakin store. 

i stop. 

peer. 

mouth is watering. 

i have deprived myself of good beer as of late. i made the mistake of buying a crappy brand and have been trying pawn it off on whoever walks in the door to my apartment. luckily, oldest made the mistake of staying with me for a week or so and thus finished of the majority of it. but i was craving. craving craving craving. 

and then i saw it. yuengling. for those of you who don't know it, find it. know it well. it will be your savior at the end of a tiring work week. 

no, i am not an alcoholic. 

however, the enthusiasm to which i pittered down the aisle and gazed at the beer as though i was reuniting with a long departed friend was nothing short of pathetic. 

anyway, i make my way to check out. those of you who have been in this situation know exactly where i'm going with this. 

the cashier begins to ring up the mozzarella cheese. the 4 different forms of tomatoes (i will admit to being tomato addicted). the pasta. the basil. and then the beer. 

i'm sorry ma'am. the machines won't let us ring up any alcohol until after 9 am. 

shit. 

well what time is it? i ask. 

8:35. 

well this paints a pretty picture. little teacher in line desperately trying to purchase beer at 8:30 in the morning. 

again, i am not an alcoholic. 

i had no choice but to purchase my items without my beloved yuengling. 

and then loaded up my items, listened to jason mraz on my ipod and went back and purchased my damn beer. 9:08 am to be exact. 

no really, not an alcoholic. yuengling aficionado. get it right. 

do you hear what i hear?

usually in a conversations, you can tell the exact moment that it goes sour. there's that look. that moment of silence. he looks down. you look away. and there's a sudden grasp to fix whatever you said that was inappropriate enough to stop the conversation. so um that chicken looks good. does it um taste good?

and there are certain people with whom your conversations flow pretty seamlessly. because you just fit together that well. or you've known them since the days of taking ballet. this more describes the conversations between oldest and i. the result of knowing each other since birth. and sharing the same mother. all those things have that kind of effect. he'll talk about a bike. i'll zone out. i'll talk about a book. he'll shake his head. he asks me for advice on clothes. i tease him. we simultaneously complain about being notoriously single. 

well we were having that type of conversation this past week when he came down into the city to run some errands. we stopped off at a jean sale (we both have an affinity for unaffordable jeans) and were waiting in the lobby, shooting the shit, waiting for the store to open. i was simultaneously on gchat with a friend from san fran, who i met while on vacation. 

san fran is a friend of oldest. they're both pretty similar in the sense that they go out of their way to shop for unique things that no one else has. they have conversations about watches. belts. jeans. they compare prices. tease when they find something cheaper. but they also happen to be these really active psycho crazy outdoors people. soft chew granola. 

anyway, i was reiterating san fran's conversation with me to oldest. stuff about jeans. shopping. how much he's been messaging oldest lately. 

oldest laughs. pokes fun back. then he states whatever, i think he's just messaging me because he has a crush on you. 

it is at this point where the conversation hits may day alert. except i am completely unaware of it. because in my head i hear something completely different. in my head i hear i think he's just messaging me because he has a crush on ME.

haha funny funny. we always tease san fran that he bats for the other team. i mean he's from san francisco. he uses hair product. he likes clothes. the jokes are all obvious here. so the joke here in MY head being oh, san fran has a crush on oldest. 

i continue with the conversation i think i hear. which is not the same conversation oldest is having. 

well yah. i mean he's been messaging you so much. but at least he has good taste,  i reply, half laughing.

meanwhile, oldest, who thinks that he has just admitted to me that his friend might have a crush on me is thinking his sister has gotten all cocky on him. well OF COURSE he's messaging him to get to her. who could resist her flirtatious forms of torture and verbal abuse. any man would be stupid to say no to it. men just fall to the floor over women who insult them constantly and consistently.

you can understand how we're both having a very different conversation. 

oldest gets a serious tone on him. look don't get me wrong. san fran is a nice guy. a really nice guy. but i just don't know what happened to him and his ex girlfriend. and i would hate for you to get involved in that. 

now let me tell you exactly how fast of a thought process i have. i can probably have an entire conversation within one breath. in my head. so after hearing oldest say this, my mind is careening into possibility. me still on the mind set that we're joking about san fran having a crush on him. 

what? is oldest considering san fran? is he admitting to batting for the other side? i mean i know i joked about san fran being gay but...well, i guess he is from san francisco. 

keep in mind i have never ever thought oldest to be a member of the other team. but it only takes one statement to flip around your belief system. my mind continues to go on overdrive. 

i mean they do have a lot in common. and they get along pretty well. and they're both pretty. oh dear god, does oldest have an affinity for pretty boys with dimples too? does this mean that we have the same taste in men? but if we have the same taste in men then that means we'll be competing for the same guys! not only will we be competing but he'll probably win!!

i never said my thought process was ever logical. 

my thoughts begin to overwhelm me so much that i just explode in a what the FUCK are we talking about????

in the very. silent. lobby. 

he looks at me. i'm talking about san fran. what are you talking about?

i'm talking about san fran too. but about san fran having a crush on you. as in joking. ha ha. 

his eyes bulge out. he has that tone. no....

you know, that tone like what are you an idiot????

no, i'm talking about san fran having a crush on YOU...

i don't quite remember how the rest of the conversation went. i probably babbled something nonsensical. but i do remember the thought process going through my head involved an incredible amount of relief for not having to compete with my brother for men. 

as if finding a guy in this dating scene isn't hard enough.

rant: asian fetish, yet again.

place: liquid therapy session. 

space: bar.

i'm trying to get sir-flirts-a-lot's attention to close out my tab. he's intentionally ignoring me just for kicks so he can watch me make faces at him and continue to try and get his attention. you want your tab? give me a kiss. i have a headache. you're my medicine he says to me. 

no medicine here. i'm poison. 

he smiles and heads over to get my tab. 

korean or vietnamese? i hear in my ear. 

i turn to see the offender. an older gentleman wearing a tropical print shirt. he's grinning. 

so which one is it? korean or vietnamese? 

i just look at him. look down. 

or is it filipino? it's gotta be one of them.

he's so sure. like he's approached women and gotten it correct most of the time. like he makes a sport of guessing which asian family a woman fits into. like analyzing which club to best use to make par. this thought process begins to annoy me. 

who knows. i could be all of the above, i reply. trying to be polite. trying not to be short. trying my best to make him go away without coming off as what he will stereotype to be the asian dragon lady. 

oh i know i know. you're from the land of EXOTICA!! 

he says this with such enthusiasm that it seems as though he sincerely believed he won me over with this statement. that it was such a compliment that i would obviously go swooning into his arms and ask him to take me home that instant. 

he was sadly mistaken. i look at him with eyes that clearly speak volumes. volumes as in if you step any closer into my vicinity i very well may have you hobbling out of this bar with the remnants of your hair in your hand. 

at that point he smartly chose to leave my side. perhaps i added another addition to his list of asian stereotypes: filipino psychotic bitch.

the way to a logorrheic's heart.....

i forgot how that saying goes. the way to a man's heart is through his...stomach? 

if that really is the case, that concretely explains my love life. a wordy sarcastic little thing for sure. a culinary queen, i am not. so just like my love life, my meals tend to run a quick course ;P

(so who's coming to dinner tonight???)

women...hm. well women are definitely a little more complex. the way to a women's heart is through her um expectations. shoe closet. telephone conversation. pukingly sweet emails. notes on the car. weekends away. kisses in the morning. cuddles in the evening. soft, gentle skin graze lip to neck. tolerated shopping venture. midnight runs for ice cream. nibbles. pillow talk. quiet understanding. i mean really, i can go on for hours.

really, a meal just isn't going to cut it. 

recently i've discovered that my list isn't nearly quite comprehensive. sure, the above list would be nice. well screw that. it would be fucking amazing. but there is one true deal breaker when it comes to me and my dating life (or lack there of). 

between you and i, dear blogging world, the way to a logorrheic is through her family. 

oldest is in the city for a bit and he agreed to come out to a liquid therapy session. real family meets liquid therapy family. it was kind of nice having one of the most important people in my life meet the people who keep me quietly sane and happy while he's away. so he met sir-flirts-a-lot. and the chocolate martini queen. and the band. and mohawk. 

it's been no secret the mohawk has been trying to warm me up to a date since we first met a year ago. had he won oldest over, i may have looked at it in a new light and considered it. but no, dear sweet asian-fetishing mohawk bit it pretty hard. he didn't acknowledge oldest upon meeting (strike 1). didn't even attempt to engage in a conversation (strike 2). and decided it would be ok to whisper in my ear that it's about to get really hot and sweaty later on *wink wink* (strike 3). 

crash and burn. 

it's soft, i admit. but one of the first things i think of when i meet a guy is whether or not he'd be able to stand one of my family reunions. i picture my family at their most charming with one of my aunt's lecturing about religious beliefs, my uncle trying to sell fart in a bottle, my cousins reminiscing about the days of atari, my father casting constant judgement in his head like a mental check list of why new friend is not good enough, my lola (grandmother) pittering around muttering eat, eat, eat and everyone else quietly wondering if he's going to fit. fit in this impossible to match puzzle i call a family.

one day i'll find a guy who gets that my mother is quirky. and knows that there is no point in arguing with my father because he's hardly listening anyway. and who can talk about video games and wrestling with older for hours on end. and who can make oldest laugh. 

that, dear readers, is the stuff that good love is made of. if he can treat my family right then i know i'm ok. 

so blogging world (all 2 of your. hi mom), what's the way to your heart? what's your golden ticket in? if it's really through your stomach, do yourself a favor and don't come my way :P

 

see, the problem with text messaging is...

my mother has learned to text message. 

no joke. 

my mother's text messages how now encompassed 30% of the text messages i use up during the month. little notes such as miss you or don't forget.... have now littered my inbox. 

however, not only has she learned to text message but she's also learned that text messaging is the perfect method of avoidance for conversations you don't want to have. for example. those one line lectures that my mother had been so good at over the phone are now being received electronically. those church reminders? oh yeah, early sunday morning, 

and honestly, not to say i do this, but if i for instance wanted to...ignore a phone call in a completely hypothetical situation, that's completely feasible. however, you can't ignore text messages. or claim that you hadn't gotten all 10 that she had sent in one day. although convenient, text messaging has now added yet another layer to which the outside world has to contact me. damn crackberries. 

and not only does it add an extra layer of contact but, just like e-mails, certain things are difficult to interpret electronically. for example, if i told a person i hated them they may not receive the sarcastic undertones that are so easy to implement in person. 

anyway, i recently added a chair to my collection of furniture. that's right folks, i now have 2 whole pieces of furniture in my apartment: a couch, and a chair. my mother, completely aware of my slightly off sense of style, text messaged me curious of exactly how badly i was ruining my apartment. 

mom: can you send me a picture of your living room? 

i took a glance at my living room. oldest is in town for a few days and my apartment was now littered with his things. i frowned. i reply.

logorrheic.: later ma, oldest's crap is all over the place. 

mom: what? is oldest sick? diarrhea?

logorrheic.: um. not so literally there mom. 

i think her and i are better off sticking with phone calls. 

maybe oxygen isn't so overrated.

in case anyone was worried or had any doubts, i want to reassure that the vacation is going ok. i know you guys must all have been worried that i wouldn't be enjoying myself in all this sun, sand and water surrounded by golden tattooed bodies. but trust me, i've managed to keep myself amused despite the environment around me.

(yes, that was sarcasm.)

anyway, yesterday we decided to have a low key day since we had spent the previous day in nonstop sun. and by nonstop sun, i mean my cheeks were a flushing pink and i was hiding under a towel much to everyone's amusement by the end of the day. not to mention i came home and slept in the beach of sand i managed to bring home with me.

the group (older, oldest and two of oldest's (male) friends) decided to do a LOW KEY hike. doesn't that sound like a nice activity after a day of sun? stroll in a low key fashion around the islands, maybe see some nice views, perhaps dip a tow or two into the water? what a wonderful low key afternoon.

i completely neglected to realize my idea of low key is miles away from their idea of low key. i should have completely realized this considering oldest is this insane biker man who gets lost in the woods in the dark without a flash light for fun and the other guy we were with was trying to karate chop kick an apple out of a tree that was about 7 feet off the ground yesterday.

so we arrive at the hike sight which looks a-ok to me. we read about it and according to the nice blue book (of death), the hike was to be "not too bad". awesome. a "not too bad" and "low key" hike to equate to a nice relaxing day. we follow the nice (paved) walkway up the hill which is leading to gorgeous views of the hawaiian islands. we reach the sign where we are supposed to veer off the trail except i don't see a trail. instead i just see piles of teetering rock leading to my death. and tide pools.

evidently "not too bad" equates to logorrheic's version of scattered rocks of doom.

anyway, oldest and his friend make it down in like .000005 seconds because they are super manly men while his other friend is nice enough to keep an eye on me to make sure i don't, i dunno, slip on a rock and slam my head not so softly into the ground.

we reach the bottom where there are these blowholes where air from the ocean just vooshes (i realize this isn't a word but it seemed so appropriate) out of these holes through the rocks. there are tide pools glimmering all around us full of gorgeous salt water that you can just float in (which helps considering i can't swim). it was nice to take a dip in and just look at the non stop ocean surrounding you. there's nothing like seeing mother nature's greatest creations to renew your faith in universe.

after a half hours rest we decide to head back up. and by back up i mean we need to climb these rocks in order to reach the top of this damn cathedral of death.

i had always been better at going to the top rather than going down ("that's what she said!" as my fellow hikers would insert about now) so i was a-ok climbing up the rocks like a little monkey climbing through the trees.

until i realized you were supposed to be following those arrows that lead to the top.

oh.

well, i had never been one to stay on the beaten path. and it had always worked for me. until now. and i got stuck.

silly logorrheic.

the boys watch me try to maneuver myself out of that pickle because, really, what else could they do since they had already made it up at that point.

slightly embarrassed i continue to climb up at warp speed (warp speed for me, which equates to meandering to my fellow hikers) up these rocks.

and suddenly the air stopped. shit. and i'm thinking to myself, for being so beautiful, the air sure does suck up here.

until i realize, it's not the air. it's my lungs.

hello asthma attack. brilliant.

in the end, yes i did make it to the top a-ok. and no i did not let the asthma hinder. and yes, i may have take about 7 hits of albuterol and offered it around in case anyone else wanted a hit. everyone declined. i was pretty proud of myself for keeping up with the boys with only minor scrapes and some lung dysfunctionalities. and discovering muscles in my ass i never knew i had.

(shit, when you don't have an ass, who knew there could be any muscle in there to begin with?)

a very successful outing with only a few minor hitches. i had an awesome time overall just being one of the guys for the day. but i suppose that's not a surprise to anyone.

aloha and be home soon :)

(insert mantra here).

i know. i suck. i've been absent for, well...forever.

well you see, there's this thing my brother, family and friends have been saying for the last week or so. it goes something like this: i'm on VACATION.

that's rightfolks. logorrheic has flown the coupe and gone to her little island fortress where life is beautiful and happy. where you frolick in the sands and praise the universe for it's finest ever masterpiece. where you dip your toes in the water and give praises to the sun. responsibility? work? bills? what? that's right folks, logorrheic is on vacation.

need to justify purchasing a couple hundred dollar massage? fuck it, i' m on vacation.

that meal you know you shouldn't eat? that's right, say it with me, i'm on vacation.

that night of indiscretion with that dreadlocked caramel latte surfer with the tattoos on his sleeve? that's right, i'm...

...just kidding. i mean really folks. i'm on vacation but i'm still picky as hell. or as oldest and i say, particular. some things don't change no matter where you are.

i have learned a bit on my island frolick. for example, there really is a difference spf 30 and spf 70. and it is not appropriate to pronounce phuket as fuck it constantly and consistently to your mother. and no matter how far you get away, things travel. problems do travel to paradise. those quirky little things you may very well criticize yourself on will still happen in paradise. you will continue to make bad decisions and bad judgements as necessary. and those memories that you consistently try to escape will follow.

but as you look out on the calm crystal blue waters and feel the wind of the island hit your already golden skin, you can't help but think, if you're going to have problems, you might as well have problems in paradise. because really, problems travel.

and so can you.

this whole falling asleep in the sand to the sound of the crashing ocean? a girl can get used to this.

hope you're all well. sending some island kisses from my favorite island fortress. now off i go to whittle away yet another day caressing the sand of mother nature's finest creation. i mean fuck it, i'm on vacation!