eggs scrambled in soju

Nearing the End of 2010

2010-12-17T10:36:00.000-08:00

Is it time yet?

Sweet Sage Made Me Do This

2008-06-09T20:55:00.000-07:00

Today she was robbed and tears were shed. It brought back memories of the shattered pieces of glass all over the fabric of the front seat. Already late for Ethical Lawyering again while on the verge of a breakdown, the missing driver's seat window was the final nail in the coffin. My fingers rapidly paged through the boys in my address book of my cell phone. J turned out to be more of an irritant than a comforter.

I don't remember who I spoke to that day my car was broken into, but it was only he that made me feel in control again sans breakdown. Now my thoughts guide me to wonder who is making her feel better at this moment? And all I can do is sit here crafting a lamentation for her losses today.

Poor Wii, who was acquired through my hard labor of days toiling at Nintendo, and plus the pink DS gifted to her on a birthday. And for anyone who feels a fraction of the love that I have for my laptop, they can feel the pain of losing theirs. Ouch. And her LV was brutally ripped away without a proper goodbye.

This is all replaceable, but the eerie violating feeling always stays with you a teensy bit. Feel better little sis.

Free Food For Millionaires

2008-06-07T14:22:00.000-07:00

My new friend, Casey, reassures me of the well known fact that nobody is perfect and that it's okay. It especially rings true growing up under the watchful eyes of status-conscious immigrant parents. And finally a novel about a Korean American heroine's life amidst everyday struggles, not just the first generation's immigrant toils.

Free Food For Millionaires was a deliciously compulsive read for this voracious reader. Akin to a guilty pleasure, but I could never allow myself to say reading was ever something to feel guilty about in life. Now as a second generation Korean American who has not gone down a straight path, I felt akin to Casey Han. It was refreshing to connect with someone who stumbled and fell while searching for her way in life. My girlfriend and I still refer back to the Caseys and Ellas in our lives.

Now as a writer, the authenticity and sensitivity of Min Jin Lee's writing makes me thirsty for more. Alongside her eloquent style is a multifaceted plethora of themes and characters. In an ambitious attempt to make sure everyone's life has a voice, there is a feeling of rushed storytelling towards the end of the novel. It would have been nice to see such stories fleshed out such as the one exploring Casey's dutiful mother, Leah, as a woman. Nonetheless, the multifaceted sides of being a modern female whose happiness lies in personal fulfillment and career satisfaction is beautifully executed.

I highly recommend Free Food For Millionaires as a novel to devour. I look forward to the next one from the talented Min Jin Lee. For more information, visit www.minjinlee.com.

a vow to writing

2008-04-03T11:25:00.000-07:00

Shh. Look who is cheating at work by writing non-client related words. Again a month has passed by without an update, but it isn't due to a lack of events in my life. This is pure neglect accompanied by great frustration to realize how inconsistent the entries on this page have become since initially beginning my blogging experience circa 2003.

So here is my personal vow to writing on this page, in my written journals and of course, work. On this note, coming very soon is how I came to review Min Jin Lee's book "Free Food For Millionaires."

um-meh

2008-03-01T15:17:00.000-08:00

Um-meh is the sound Korean cows make or at least what they taught me back in the motherland. Say it aloud with a touch of exaggeration in the sense of the American moo.

Sitting or rather laying on my bed at home with three or four full-length features under the elastic of my boxers, it is quite the Saturday afternoon. Instead of my long awaited Mexican weekend getaway, my bed has become my place of solace. Yet standing up to do anything initiates a coughing frenzy from deep within my chest. What a grand day. Then again it has started me thinking on writing again and could be freeing me from this somewhat permanent freeze. Cross your fingers so the cows will come home with a muse for Vivian.

broccoli on my fingertips

2007-10-28T21:02:00.001-07:00

Sitting alone in an empty apartment on Sunday with some Ben Affleck film playing led me to thoughts of online flings. A T.V. dinner with crumbly bits of what passes as vegetables by only their colorful exterior lingers on my fingers. Pieces of green from the broccoli brushed off my hands now in the trash can resemble so many of the pictures and conversations over the past ten years. Short, tall, funny, thoughtful, users, abusers, love, desire and the list of characteristics continue like a ticker tape in my brain. In some ways the days when hope and excitement of the prospect of someone new are better than static. Yet the mended part of me cautions me from even going there yet temptation whispers in my ear. When is enough, enough is the question that floats through me on days like this.

the rooftop sex scene

2007-10-27T21:37:00.000-07:00

Dream...but don't sleep.

These few words were haphazardly scratched on an orange Post-It in blue ballpoint. This frayed note was crookedly taped on the side of that yellowed cash register in a convenient store in Chicago. My eyes quickly scanned and stored these few words into my memory where randomness reigns as I walked out with my bottle of water. Yet this seemingly meaningless combination of words kept somewhat haunting me ever since my flight back to LA. Maybe or probably because of the sadness arising from the vast absence of any sort of dreams. When did I stop dreaming?

Then today it kind of happened. Just a simple thought jolted through me as my jean clad legs dangled over the edge of my unmade bed while aimlessly looking out the stained window. Somewhat special to me since it is rare that this sort of daydream has visited me. A personal victory or awakening if you may.

Out of all the years of sweet intimate moments that are in my pocketbook of experiences, this one has passed me by. A night with me and him laying out with a few blankets on a rooftop with maybe a candle or two. Underneath would be the hustle and bustle of people scrambling around to get to their weekend parties. Except me and him would lay naked with the warmth of each other and that scratchy blanket tossed on top of us. Echoing above would be the sounds of silly giggling and silent kisses. Maybe even toss down a few sprinkles dancing on our heads.

But the closest I have gotten involved a couple of new car floormats in the middle of a deserted housing development underneath a blanket of smoggy stars in the Valley with that ideal boy toy of the time. Call me a romantic as my new mission is to make it happen this damn year so now to find my new him. But really details are not as important in comparison to the plea of please let this insomniac keep dreaming. Signing off with a raised fist and the words: don't stop dreaming.

in memory of my glasses

2007-10-13T13:33:00.001-07:00

The morning started with the unpleasant discovery of my only pair of glasses broken. The frame had given way past the Krazy Glue my hands had nimbly reapplied a couple weeks ago as a temporary fix, but now the right lens is broken right down the middle. I tried them on only to find that shattered vision was not only impractical but extremely unflattering. Then my mom scolded me by shooting off a sarcastic remark and blaming my uncouth sleeping style. Of course the eternal child in me rapidly denied it, but yes. The sheer weight of my head pressing into my pillows killed them after falling asleep out of sheer exhaustion at 4:30a while season two of The X-Files played on the television screen. Now the memory of my first time breaking a pair drifted by where my obsession with one of the old school gray Nintendo Gameboys led me to step on them mindlessly as the game beeped on. RIP Gucci GG 2441, 2002-2007, Beloved glasses of Vivian. Oh my glasses, you will be missed dearly.

comfort foodies and fodder

2007-07-09T22:26:00.000-07:00

Death. So people ask if there is anything they can do and of course, speechless and Korean, no request is ever made. In addition to lacking an answer to what would fill the emptiness that overcame me on Saturday morning. But now the answer arose as that all I want is for people who care to be next to me. Just you.

Possibly the longest day, but actually this the past week has been a blur. The constant asking in a panicky voice, "What day is it?" has slowed down when he came over around 1:30PM. His presence comforted me in a way that was so carefree, simple that I remembered how it was a daily occurence 20 some years ago. My comfort is being with a person who likes you and a person who likes you back since my appetite seems to have disappeared off the face of this earth.

Seriously feeling in a way where my house was an open, light welcome space instead of the prison it felt for the last half a decade. Introducing my home then sitting down with just me for about 10 hours just talking and sharing laughs with an additional brief visitor and chain smoking sessions included. Then he took me to his home and took care of me yesterday from making it a goal for me to eat a breadstick to sleep with me in the pure sense of comfort.

He and I share a relationship that cannot be described but by the word special. A blessing we share in each other that others cannot comprehend amuses me from time to time. We just get it. This is for you: It's lonely at the top plus MMMMMM. I will be fine, but right now the little girl in me is still just really sad.

Thank you for sleeping with me and holding my hand throughout the night.

where the wild things are not

2007-01-04T21:27:00.000-08:00

Sitting on a plushy, long couch in a coffee shop in Koreatown was where we sat for over two hours, just laughing and groaning about changes in life and lack thereof. This medley of songs seemingly written for the depressed played in the background as he sipped green tea from a delicate teacup and my usual, a dahbahng coffee, chilled in front of me in its stainless steel container. Tonight was surprisingly calm and nice as it brought back how fun it can be to sit and just talk with someone over coffee. Memories of my high school days in Korea wafted into my thoughts during comfortable silences, where the occasional class was ditched to merely go and talk with a friend in one of Seoul's numerous coffee shops. Okay, okay. So ditching also meant cigarettes were bought from the lady in the bus token booth to go with the cocktails that my fellow ditcher had ordered. Illegal drinking and underage smoking tend to define a certain period of my personal high school experience.

But really it was coffee and conversation. Those were the two things that continuously helped my soul flourish so my ardent search for them went on through college. Except somehow during my personal incessant rants and listening to others on the subject of how boring or difficult everything is today, these two simple elements that were so sacred to me were forgotten. And the sad thing is I don't even know when or how because damn somewhere along the years I simply forgot. All it took for me to have a good time with someone, whether it be a date or just chilling, was that cup of coffee and conversation. What an idea right? Maybe it is time for me to go back to the basics, but for now thanks G for the coffee and exchanging neurotic musings together because it made me feel really nice, the kind of nice that I haven't felt in a very long time.

mental neon sticky

2006-06-08T21:31:00.000-07:00

Oh my fucking goodness. I almost forgot how draining people harboring negative energy can be on a person. And it is not the good type of irritating that fades away to sexual tension. Nobody should ever make you feel bad about yourself. But it is those types that make you even more thankful for the friends that you do choose to include in your life. Plus this reminded me of why I somewhat recently waved goodbyes to two star-crossed crushes, right on the nostalgic verge of the nice girl in me almost blurting out that I missed those misunderstood pricks. Fuck that shit dude. Just say no to human toxicity.

twenty-seven and one

2006-05-05T21:34:00.000-07:00

6:30 AM. Woken up by a bit of a hangover and taking pictures of my favorite llama handsomely wearing his scarf hand knit by my grandmother. Introducing Douglas who was gifted to me in New York one year from this very day by my dear sister while we took shifts sleeping at Barnes & Nobles in Union Square before heading out to Avenue Q on Broadway. I would model the matching one that was knit for me, but unfortunately the after effects of alcohol has currently rendered me somewhat unpresentable for public viewing at the moment. But Douglas is always ready for a photo op. And no I am not still intoxicated, but some sort of entertainment was and still desperately needed to get my mind off this headache. Now excuse me as the pictured fingers must proceed to the bathroom with me as the sweet taste to vomit has come to wish me a happy birthday.

sweet, sweet liquor

2006-04-17T21:36:00.000-07:00

Buzzing and writing. Buzzing and writing. I am buzzed right now. Thus my ingenious light bulb moment that occurred to me today has led my fingers to magically dance across the keyboard. My love of a fabulous Bloody Mary cocktail has been replaced with Grey Goose Dirty Martinis. Those two current obsessions had led me to order only those at every possible dinner or bar that my pretty mary janes have stepped into all over the domestic U.S. Now it is definitely a Dirty Martini. With a pretty glass, high alcohol content, salty goodness with those spherical objects on a stick, how could you go wrong? Kisses to all those many people who have supported my habit. And to think it was due to him that I was driven to drink in angry alcoholics style yet wonderfully discovering dirty martinis with that huge plate of fries. Yet this alcoholic moment does not beat that one summer in college where a good portion of it was spent deliciously kissing this boy who first introduced me to Patron. Choose your poison.

yes to 2008

2006-03-02T21:38:00.000-08:00

Driving home from the pharmacy today, the red digital sign flashing Trojan Latex Condoms 7.99 on 6th street caught my eye. My innocent wondering mind thought about when pharmacies began to advertise condom sales in broad daylight. Perhaps it is a signal that I have not been a condom purchasee for too long. This motivated me to take out my secret stash in the closet.

Now in the trash can next to my desk lies seven expired packs of various birth control pills along with over twenty something condoms. But now after today's annual doctor visit, my contraceptive stash has been freshly replaced with over a year's worth of one specific type of birth control pill in addition to a handful of latex. They always stock me with latex. After some careful reading, the conclusion is that I have until the year 2008 to find a partner that will actually be worthy of me pumping hormones into my body to enjoy some horizontal fun on a regular basis. Well at least having them handy indicates the faith I hold dearly to my heart that this actually will happen, right? Yet there is always abstinence. But please. Let's hope not to the latter option. Go sex.

the undoing

2006-02-11T21:39:00.000-08:00

A snapshot of last night would be something like this. Out of all the hundreds of people in the Asian packed club my eyes found a past arch enemy from law school at the entrance of the club. But cordial and nice came out of my mouth perhaps due to the influence of the pre-party three or four vodka mixtures working its magic. Then one of the straps to my new silk camisole broke off sometime in the middle of the club. Of course another silver hoop earring has rolled off somewhere in the club neverlands. Lost a few bucks and a shoe insole. The night continued on as the other strap to my camisole snapped. Somehow my bra became exposed as a nice boy buttoned up his shirt on me. As my eyes started to lose focus and my girlfriend tried to save me again by yelling look at me as she pointed to both her eyes it was to no avail. Then the nice boy tried to make out with me continuously throughout the night as I continuously ran away. It was somewhat reminiscent of my middle school playground. He even captured one of my silver BCBG shoes as I limped towards him to recapture it back at the bar. If memory serves me correctly it might have uh been held between his teeth. Err. The hazy memory of me tumbling around on the couch again sorta like Vegas. This was my Friday night.

After careful review of the nonsensical text messages sent last night past midnight, it must have been quite a night. And actually after picking up an empty Evian water bottle from the passenger side of my car while getting a hungover remedy breakfast, I found myself actually smiling and just felt very happy. I forgot how fun it is to play.

the good kinda fuckin

2005-06-18T22:35:00.000-07:00

Let's be honest here. I'm home on a friday night eating bread and butter. Yes literally bread and specifically "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter." But the point. I need some sex. Yes. Mark the word: need. Not want. FUCKING NEED. Shit. I got some stress to let out. And the best part? NO STRINGS attached. Seriously. I just don't need the drama. And mostly importantly to the boy who I have had the best sex with. I miss you. Silently weeping on that polite decline.

Hahahaha. Sounds like a personal ads at the back of the LA Weekly. The secret pictures that you are grossed out by of like male strippers. Haha. Alright back to alternating between Gastenau Girls, which prompted me to put on my diamond earrings, and maybe uh some skinemax? :P It's fun to be a girl. I might regret this entry so if you sisters and brothers out there hear me. Anyone feeling me give me a shout out. And my apologies to my readers who might be offended. [Hehe. Not really. It's my page right? I can write whatever I want! If you don't like it, don't read it. Isn't that true?]

Caution: As you probably figured when I was writing this entry, it is a pure stream of consciousness of Vivian. Neurotic but with heart. And obviously fucked up. Okay I think I said to much. Hehe. Kisses.

edit: Go public. Ding. Ding. Ding.

eighteen boys

2005-06-12T22:35:00.000-07:00

Somewhat abruptly that catchy clapping tune indicating a voicemail uncharacteristically broke through my sweet silence. Groggily rubbing my eyes, the orange digital numbers on the cable box read 3:00. I rolled out of my toasty down nest to reach for the cell that began rapidly blinking an even brighter orange. But rather than hearing the expected tearful best girlfriend in crisis, my ears were greeted with drunken shouting from a pair of rambunctious boys as my lazy yawn quickly turned into a smile. So as the fan in my room continued it's aimless whirring, my fingers stumbled through the phone book to locate the number.

After an obnoxious speakerphone conference call with these two Seattlite friends from my era of eighteen, the giggling quickly turned into a sweet conversation between me and him. As I nestled back into my pillows, simply listening made me remember why he was a best friend for a significant portion of my life. Then with the sober realization he had to drive home, he left telling me I made him happy with a promise to call again. Click. This third unexpected goodbye today from established connections and hopeful connectors finally prompted my hands to gently sweep the sheets to find my glasses to write.

Hastily yanking out a stark white blank sheet of paper, I messily scribbled: Why am I having such a hard time connecting with people lately. Like those connections where a genuine happiness comes from talking about nothing, late night pep talks or even silently keeping me company for hours in a bar on a Monday night. With no real answer expected, my eyes began to feel a heaviness somewhat similar to the one temporarily settled in my heart. And with a tossing of my battered glasses onto the unoccupied side of my queen size bed, I decided to go to sleep.

black cherry vanilla

2005-04-12T21:42:00.000-07:00

One vodka tonic please. Okay. Maybe plus four.

hallway chronicles

2005-03-07T21:41:00.000-08:00

So I will admit it. Standing outside of closed doors for several minutes to observe those various knickknacks outside of them has become a quiet obession of mine. Sometimes a daring sense of defiance oozes from the kid inside not to keep my hands to myself and touch these door ornaments. And the occasional sense of my teenage kleptomania washes over me to grab and run away with such figurines like that oddly endearing welcome sheep with it's crazy face residing outside of a doorway in New York. Many times "What the hell were they thinking?" flashes across my mind. But I can't help wonder, to what degree, these decorative trinkets define the character of the people behind the door.

Most recently walking through the dimly lit corridor leading to a place that is supposedly my home includes mouthing my daily hello to the wooden bluebird who silently chirps back "Welcome Friends" in painted white letters. My periwinkle bluebird makes me miss the friendly cloth bird with it's rainbow colored tail always chilling outside a door in my ex's complex in Seattle. And the comical lettering reminds me of my sister's fourth grade teacher's cheery "Super Job!" scribbled across the top of her assignments. But the best part is the matching brightly woven pastel doormat lying below the wooden bird, which almost magically brightens up the dingy hallway carpet it lies on.

Then before a smile can even spread across my face, I turn the corner only to rediscover the mat lying in front of my own domain. It's the door with the black mat that reads "I Live Next To Stupid" with a finger pointing to the right. And despite being the sole family member who abhors this doormat, it has somehow transformed itself into one of those things that defines home.

searching in the wrong

2005-02-24T22:35:00.000-08:00

The most iridescent daily routines have the possibility of becoming monotonous. And quite unforgiving. Perhaps it's that personal scientific process of selecting tomorrow's outfit on the night before. Those numerous conversations exchanging the day's musings and some silly, sweet nothings. Waiting for that cup of warm coffee while fidgeting in line during the morning rush at the local coffee shop. And somehow if one is missing, the feeling of emptiness creeps in only to leave a gaping hole. But somewhere these very activities that were once highlights of the day become mere threads in the tapestry of everydayness. So then at what point do these daily routines become sparkling addictions?

sticks and pucks

2005-01-31T22:33:00.000-08:00

After piling my hair into a messy bun, a gentle tilt let the two prescription pills slide down my throat. Still tightly clutching onto the water bottle, a quick glance across my desk revealed an array of bright green allergy tablets scattered around yesterday's frequently shaken aspirin bottle. Then I drifted into aimlessly swivelling round and round in my tattered leather chair only to discover a red puffy, annoyed face glaring back at me from the mirrored closet. It looked almost as if she had been hit during a game of sticks and pucks. My eyes grudingly studied the image of myself in my navy UCLA shirt and worn plaid flannel boxers while reluctantly admitting the truth that I looked how I felt. Disgusted or any variation of the word would work.

Blinking out my disposable contacts and wiping off the smudged eyeliner applied only a couple hours earlier, the familar medicated dizziness slowly began to reintroduce itself again. While continuing to get ready for bed at noon and refolding the clothes I was to wear today, the colors on the blouse began to melt into each other. And slowly the angry scowl on my face was replaced by a blank stare in the mirror. In turn my thoughts began to soften with the realization that the return of this rabid rash has lead me to another simple Monday where all there is to do is crumple up into a ball and not scratch. And once again I find myself being rudely introduced into a life of as a pill popper.

secrets of the weary

2005-01-20T22:34:00.000-08:00

Feeling a bit uninspired lately. Who can grab a cup of black coffee with me.
And maybe even a few cigarettes.
Exchange a few words.
I won't tell.

Currently Reading
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
By DAVE EGGERS
see related

reflective breakups

2004-12-31T22:33:00.000-08:00

A forelorn cup of coffee from a fast food breakfast meal sat in the middle of the architect's desk that has reigned as my favorite piece of furniture since college. Soft lighting replaced the normally bright room as a delicate lamp illuminated the west corner of the already suffocative room. Earphones that were carelessly tossed aside blared out muffled noise. The harsh tones resembled those of my own that have been seeping through me today. Maybe even permeating me this entire year. One glance at this room reminded me of how it always looked during a breakup period as today my tumultuous relationship with 2004 was at it's end.

This joyous clutter called life which has provided me with the premium fuel for all my writing is coming to a bittersweet ending. With a few tears slowly rolling down my cheeks and a tiny scream, I was done saying goodbye. Then after carefully tightening my hair parted in two pigtails, my hand reached for the neglected cup. Tilting my head back, I slowly gulped down the black liquid before beginning the new book that was gingerly placed atop of the fresh pack of cigarettes on the desk.

my shoes and I

2004-12-27T21:44:00.000-08:00

Sometimes it feels like couples are the only things in your immediate line of vision when you are standing alone in line. A couple of hands entwined together. Two snowboarding gloves tied together with a bright red ribbon. The first cup of coffee was handed off to her as he waited for his own second cup. As I listened to the loud chatter around me, my heel started to automatically tap to the holiday music blaring from the speakers.

With a beautiful pair of round toe stiletto heels snugly strapped onto my feet, I reminisced over the past events of December that my shoes and I travelled together. Being wined and dined quickly turned sour in the beginning of the month, but quickly forgotten by alcoholically abolishing my fear of ski lifts. Then boozing to actually witness the Lakers losing streak at Staples Center continued onto open bars at holiday parties. As NYC hearts waved goodbye from my week visit, LA sunnily continues to welcome me. But I couldn't help but wonder when would be the next time I would be plus one. Yet unable to fully indulge my frivolous fear, the barista's voice impatiently called Vivian which made my head snap.

Flashing her an apologetic smile, I scooped up my double espresso over ice from the wet counter. Despite the lack of Christmas spirit, goodbyes to a year never ceases to invoke my cheesiest moves. Thus as my leather covered heels clicked against the slightly wet pavement to work, I raised the plastic cup containing my caffeinated breakfast in front of me. Then silently toasted to the fastly approaching fabulous 2005.

awake

2004-11-28T22:33:00.000-08:00

Slightly tilting my right cheek upwards allowed the sunshine to shower me in it's warmth. As I looked ahead of me on Venice Boulevard, a multitude of cars were smoothly cruising to their respective destinations under a beautiful blue sky. This is California I thought to myself as my hands loosely clutched onto the steering wheel as I moved forward. Despite my progress, it's seemingly difficult to smile sometimes as I glance into my rearview mirror as a feeling washes over my heart. Although I label this as too familiar feeling as sadness, others seem to refer to this feeling as growing up. Still the strength to go forward seems to come in the form of touching moments which then reminds me that I'll be alright. Except sometimes it doesn't seem worth it because this damn tiredness runs over me as weakness settles in again. I suppose that is because I'm actually living life this time around instead of recklessly ignoring it.

Maybe a hiatus today is in order, allowing myself to fold to the bleekness constantly around me. I deserve that much, don't I?