The Stalker Bench

Dearest Stalker-Like Patron of the Park, 

                I understand that my ninja t-shirt and pink flower pajama pants are a real turn-on, but averting your obtrusive eyes and pretending I don’t exist for a minute would be greatly appreciated whilst I eagerly await the arrival of a certain puppy’s early morning dump.  Perhaps the sun’s reflection upon my grease-laden hair is too much to resist, in which case I sympathize with your inability to control yourself.  Either way, this whole awkward stare-off could have been avoided if we had both just pretended that this fence separating my backyard from your spot in the public park was made of bricks.  Or Adamantium.  Because that would be bad-ass.


Since the dawn of time, there has existed a mythical land just beyond the confines of my humble backyard.  It was a place of magic, mystery, and beauty; filled with grand tournaments between cleat-laden midgets, jogging warriors fighting to reclaim their youth and all that’s in between.  One day, the Law of the Land enacted a decree stating that three royal benches would be erected around the land to guard against their enemies and stand as a monument to their greatness.  One of these benches was erected directly facing the territory of the Greatest Enemy of All.

A.K.A my freaking backyard.

This bench has now come to be known as The Stalker Bench.

Extremely well made map of my predicament.

Extremely well made map of my predicament.

At first my family was in denial.  There’s no way the city would put a bench directly facing our house; there had to be a mistake.  But as time went on, it became evident that the putrid-green bench was there to stay.  And with it came a host of awkward stare-offs and parties I was never invited to.

Take this morning for instance.  As I stood in all my pajama-wearing unshowered glory waiting for my two dogs to evacuate their bowels, a young man sat upon the Stalker Bench.  And stared.  Just stared.  In defense I ignored him, then eventually conceded to a battle of glaring.  Usually at this point people will awkwardly look away or leave the bench altogether, but this man aptly deserved the title of Stalker bestowed upon him by the bench.  His staring abilities were the stuff of legends.  It wasn’t until my hulkish father appeared that the young man awkwardly coughed and looked away, and even then he would steal occasional glances.  I get it, I’m irresistible in ninja t-shirts; but please exercise some self-restraint.

However, self-control is not something that happens very often around the Stalker Bench.  If I were asked how many times I have been witness to sexual acts, the Stalker Bench would greatly skew the results and I would probably land in jail.  First base, second base, third base, thirteenth base…One time a couple went All The Way and I almost got my confetti cannon out and threw them a celebration, but it was over before I could even get the party hats out.  Drinking, smoking, partying, dancing, fist fights, sleeping, choking on apples, contacting the spirit world and the likes are also common occurrences.  It’s amazing just what people will do on a public bench.  And its even more amazing how much I’m never invited to these functions, no matter how big I make my puppy eyes.

Thus I am forced to out-stalk the stalkers and scare them away from the bench with intense stares and crazy body convulsions.  If only they knew they could avoid this whole ordeal by inviting me to their seances.

Or just leaving.

Darth Vader Keeps it Classy in Canada

I have a confession to make.

Canada has never been a favorite of mine.  I admit I have been the procurer of many a Canadian joke; maple syrup, mounties and passive-aggressive accents are only some of topics that fill my Canadian repertoire.  I am not proud of this fact… I am an avid dissenter of stereotypes, and yet I cannot break the habit of taking a stab at the U.S.’s good ol’ moose-riding buddies every now and then.  No matter how hard I tried to stop being a hypocrite, I could not find a cure for my Canadian Conundrum.

Until this picture came into existence:

This is exactly what it looks like.

This is exactly what it looks like.


Yes.  That is indeed a picture of Darth Vader playing the violin in the streets of British Columbia.  Recently my “AMAZING BESTEST FRIEND FOREVER” (exact quote from the best friend herself) went to Canada and sent me this picture.  Rather than the immediate disapproval of Canada I should have experienced upon the viewing of this picture, I felt a spark of interest.  Do Canadians drive on the left side?  Is free burgers in Canada a thing?  Do 3-way stops exist?  Are Canadians only allowed to wear stripes and plaid?  Is the bus full of British dissenters?  Are buses called “trolleys” in Canada?

So many questions.  So little time, eh.

I Can’t Write but at Least I Have Knees

Me: Just write something epic already. Something that will get you internet famous. Something with Doritos.
Brain: No.
Me: At least write something that expands your talents as a writer.
Brain: Bish I’m too fabulous for that.
Me: Just write anything, for the love of all that’s spicy.
Brain: You’re not my mother.
Brain: YOUR MOM.

So pretty much I got nothin. Life is neither good nor bad, so I can’t complain or brag about anything.

I went to the doctor’s today for a checkup. Somehow they make me feel guilty for not drinking or smoking or doing drugs…they’re all “well I don’t know what to do now…lemme hit your knee and see if that leads to cancer.”

No cancer, but I do have bad reflexes so that made the doctor feel better.

This isn’t Russian West Side Story

I am surrounded by weird conversations 24/7.

For clarification, “A” is 13 and obsessed with bowel movements while 17-year-old “Z” is a bit more pragmatic.

And they are both my brothers.  And this conversation happened over a peaceful breakfast one obscure morning.  Out of the blue.  Like all things in my life.

A: Have you ever heard [MediocreNINja] fart?”

Z: Yes. Then the world exploded.

A: So that’s how the Civil War started…

Me: What I wasn’t even alive back then-

A: The Civil War. Ya know, the East against the West.  Republicans against the Dominion.

Z: Don’t you mean the Confederacy?

A: No that was the Soviet War.


Ladies and gentlemen, my family.

Infinite’s “Destiny” Butters my Bread

I acquired approximately 4 hours of sleep last night because a certain Korean boyband decided to release a song and accompanying music video at 9:00 at night.  This would usually pose no threat except for the fact that I physically COULD NOT pull myself away from the screen for 5 hours.  5.  Hours.

You guys just don’t understand.  I…I just…It’s just… I pride myself on being a rational and (relatively) calm fan of Korean pop music.  I honestly dislike even being considered a “kpop fan” because it connotes images of ignorant shallow desperate fangirls who are the very definition of insanity and immaturity (DISCLAIMER: I know not all of y’all are like that).  However, yesterday night my senses were beyond blown.  It’s like Santa Claus implanted a geyser into my esophagus and from it sprung forth a multitude of unstoppable giggles.  My brain could not even process the enormity of this single event the first time around.  The stars fell and volcanoes erupted and the world ended and I was in love.

It was that epic.

This defining moment has a name.  And it’s name is “Destiny.”


Firstly, the song is absolutely brilliant.  The composition is so compact and clean it brings OCD-infused tears to my eyes.  The whole grungy electronic sound with a splash of dubstep and enough piano to keep it musical makes my ears dance.

Secondly, the dance is just straight up perfection.  Beyond complicated yet seamless.  I can’t even imagine how someone would come up with choreography so…perfect.

Lastly, everything else.  The setting, the camerawork, the outfits, the hair, the concept, EVERYTHING is so my style it’s not even funny.  It’s like Woollim Entertainment probed my brain and took every aspect of life I cannot resist and put it into one amazing moment that lasts 4 minutes 11 seconds.  Except even I could never come up with something this tremendous.

The part that gets me the most is the end bit of the music video where everything just goes to hell and it’s pure chaos.  Everyone bursting into flames and exploding and insanity rampant in everything and just CRAZY.  Conveying all the feels exactly how I feel them.

Just…good job Infinite.  Good job Woollim.  Good job producers and cameramen and directors and choreographers and stylists and EVERYONE.  GOOD JOB YOU FOR MAKING IT THIS FAR.

Pat yourself on the back and treat yourself to 5 hours of Infinite.

Puppies are like Drugs

My heart is melting into puddles of gooey honey and ice cream.

I got a puppy.

puppy puppy

I don’t even have much to write, I just wanted to show off this perfect little creature I’ve been given the privilege of growing up with.  It’s funny how much brighter and more beautiful reality is now that I’ve met this tiny being.  I love everyone and everyone loves me and there’s sunshine coming from the dirt and the birds are singing and there’s just joy blossoming from everything and the world is good~

Seriously, getting a puppy is like a drug.  She pees everywhere and needs constant attention and I am beyond allergic to her and NOTHING CAN BRING ME DOWN.  I learn more from her than I do most humans.  She is just joy and love in puppy form.

This post is sappy sappiness and I don’t care because YOU CAN’T DENY EMOTIONS OF THIS MAGNITUDE.  GAH.

College Orientation = No Tacos

If college is anything like college orientation, its going to be an interminable 4 years.

2 days.  No tacos.  Or ramen.  Only drawling speakers, mindless pacing, and a lot of avoiding people.  For the most part, I do not mix well with people my age.  Usually I’m an invisible ninja who doesn’t have to deal with eyes, but orientation was like a crappy made-for-tv movie where I was the outcast main character the audience loves but the movie mates despise.  Girls glared.  Boys stared.  Somehow I felt simultaneously viewed as normal and weird.  Pretty sure a couple of my groupmates thought I was mentally-handicapped.  I probably was handicapped from lack of sleep and creeping social anxiety…and the lack of food.

Besides the never-ending speeches on how us freshmen are most likely going to die our first year of college because we know nothing except how to booze and drive cars off of roads, orientation was okay.  And by “okay” I mean “I don’t know how to process any of this so I’d rather curl up into fetal position and watch documentaries on insects.”  Yeah, that happened.

Firstly, I got lost.  So lost.  So many times.  Right off the bat I spent an hour and a half in 110 degree weather searching for the building.  After my panicked father called and spent 45 minutes guiding me to the building (I had no map.  Or sense of directions), I arrived in a state of sweaty glory, pissed at the college for sucky parking but relieved I didn’t have to interact with other human beings and ask for directions.  Later that night I couldn’t find my car, so I spent 2 hours honing my navigation skills and becoming a master of the college map.  In a way I learned more wandering around than I did listening to the orientation lectures.  It was almost fun.  I just told my cramping feet that we were being pirates going on a treasure hunt for facial wash and pajamas.  After narrowly escaping the clutches of a speeding bus, I located my car, retrieved my luggage, and headed for the dorm where kids were partying and drinking on the lawn while dancing to Beast’s “Beautiful Night.”

That was probably the weirdest part of the whole orientation experience.  I’m used to teenagers getting crazy and breaking rules, but its always done with the notion that somewhere out there some no-fun adult is trying to stop you.  But not this time.  Nobody was telling us to go to bed or stop partying, because we were the adults now.  This freedom was intoxicating.  Literally.  But our future is now in our hands, and nobody is responsible for us but us.  We are the future, and we say its a freaking 아름다운 밤이야 and we are going to get crazy because WE ARE ADULTS NOW, DAMMIT.

Welcome to college.

P.S. I didn’t party.  I fell asleep.  Because I freaking love sleep.  Welcome to REAL WORLD college.