Wednesday, January 20, 2010

A dialogue with cats

There I was again, smoking out of my bong, blowing the smoke towards the rain that pounded hard on the window with the wind's menacing hand. Alone, but in the company of three cats, all staring at me, six little eyes, round and round (and round).

What, kitties, gonna call the police?

I looked at Juno, her green eyes twinkling and with that unimpressed face. She was taunting me.

"Juno, I'm pretty sure I'm done but I'm not gonna put my bong away just yet because what if I want more later?"

She says nothing.

"I'm just talking to you a crazy person...because I'm really high." I stare at them, mouth half open. They stare back. I stare at them for some time.

"Yeah...I am doneeee. But it just doesn't feel right to put it away yet. What if I'm not later?" I ask Juno.

She stares at me blankly.

"Cause it's like...the ritual isn't done yet, you know? It feels to early to finish. Anyway, I'm just gonna put it down like this." I put the bong down on the table. Pretty bong. Good bong.

Yup, three cats over here. I must say it's been fabulous. Fabulous! I do love my munchkins. The actual Oliver and Tigerlily are here, original inspiration for my blog title! :-)

Speaking of this blog, it's quite pathetic that January is almost over and I only have three posts here. I was actually talking to some random dude at the gym today who saw that I was reading Valvedre by George Sands and he started asking me if I was a writer, and what I write, and I told him that I have a stupid blog to practice writing more as a New Year's resolution. I didn't actually say it was stupid.

That prompted me to update this.

Monday, January 11, 2010


Have you ever read Notes from the Underground? It's a mix between American Psycho and Kakfa-esque works (aren't I a horrible, terrible person for just listing that? such a nerd. I deserve to be duct-taped and stuffed in a locker [please don't do that to me]) -- an isolated character leaning towards insanity lashes out at and suffers from cold, cruel society. It's an existential work. And in it contains plenty of loner-status self-reflection and ramblings about the character's day-to-day self affairs.

My friends know how annoying I am when I keep goin' and goin' about existential bullshit...God I am such the goth chick at a high school dance, whatever the fuck that means.* So the fragile, emo, literary major nerd inside of me (who wears an eyeshadow called "PURGATORY") really likes this story.

And so I present to you: Notes from a Higher Ground :-)

It'll be fun!

At first, I had planned on extensively writing on the subject of marijuana in my life the past week, but that itself is rather extensive (although still entertaining, nonetheless). So instead I will just explain with what happened today:

I woke up after a smoking the night before. It was late, 1:30 pm. I still felt exhausted, even after getting all that sleep so I thought, maybe I'll just sleep a little longer.

I wake up and it's 4:40 pm, and I'm like fuck my life. I get up and mill around the house quietly and soul-lessly (I was a fucking zombie). I am definitely high hungover. My mother says to me sarcastically, "You're up so early! It's only 5 pm!" in Chinese. Very funny, Mom. I go to the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror for god knows how long, maybe centuries.

I notice that the house is quiet.

I notice that my mother and brother are downstairs. I don't think that's a good thing. I can only think of my bong and all my weed stashed together in the downstairs closet in the laundry room. I proceed downstairs, and in shock, discover my mother and brother in front of the open closet door, staring at MY BONG and MY WEED.

... Just what do you do in that situation? Give as much bullshit as you can give, I guess, "Oops that's mine! I mean it's not mine...I mean someone left it here by accent...They...forgot it."

My brother opens the ziplock bag with my weed it, and smells it. He gingerly closes the bag and hurries away (that was a big wtf).

My mother demands to know what it is, and why the house smelled like that (FYI the house smelled like Pacific Breeze mango coconut incense, not weed).

"[in Chinese] What's that?" She points to the bag of weed.

"It''s like incense. It smells good. That's why it smells so good in here," I stay stupidly.


"'s just like incense! That's why it smells so nice and fruity in here. Doesn't it smell good??"



"No, you just light it-"

"WHAT'S THAT?" She points to my beautiful bong.

"It's for lighting it! It's for what you light it on, like incense."


"Yeah, yeah! It's like hookah!"

"I thought I told you there's no hookah in this house! No smoking in this house! Don't ever do it again!"

"Oh okay, I won't do it again."

"No hookah!!"

"Oh okay, but doesn't it smell good??"

She walks away and I stood there, shaking my head in shame and half-laughing. Look what I have become with drugs, I thought, and laughed at my own joke.

Man, that experience sucked. I definitely need to be more careful in the future.

Till next time! :-D

*I want to apologize for the general senselessness of this post. Truth is, I am currently high off my mind.

Monday, January 4, 2010

"Once a runner, you can rescue animals, do advanced math, maybe even live forever"

" My favorite incarnation of runner is the one I discovered first. This is the runner I foster at every opportunity. I'm a mathematician, engineer, snob, bad poet, bad comedian, and romantic - also an athlete, fashionista, pessimist, optimist, nutritionist, physiologist, and homeopath. But when I run, I am mostly a dreamer. When you sleep, you snore. When you run, you dream. The dreams float lightly through the first mile but by the last kick, they flash with every step. If I keep this up, I'll never grow old! I'd do a marathon by spring! I'll never get sick! If I keep going, I'll flush my toxins and my sloth and my temptations and my bad habits! Terrible things will never happen to me! If they do, I'll have the stamina to crush them. If I keep this up, I'll grow better looking with age! I'll be the smartest person in the room! I'll be admired and never envied, respected and never feared, loved and never pitied. If I keep this up I can have hamburgers! Hamburgers!! I can eat chicken with the skin on and fried bread with powdered sugar and sprinkles and extra nuts and chocolate sauce! If I keep this up I'll never need glasses or crowns or joint replacements. I won't need surgery of any kind - I'll rewire my DNA and nullify every genetic deficiency! If I keep it going, I can have it all! I already do! If I can only keep running and never stop, I'll live forever..."

- Mark Patent ("Unexpected Upsides", Runner's World, January 2010)

Friday, January 1, 2010

First post: Los Angeles in succession

New Year's resolution: maintain a blog for a year.

Oh, the dreams I had for this first blog post. An illustrious blog post I would write, full of candor, wit, and f'in ACRIMONY -- so much bitterness for 2009, well fuck off, 2009! What would follow are my laments for the year, for each unfortunate thing that happened to me, my friends, my family, the world, and all my hopes and dreams for the future, for 2010 - the new year, a year of change and diversion and turning twenty-one and sluttiness*. But after the clock finally turned twelve and I laid in bed till four-something a.m. wondering what the hell to write about, it was just
blankness that came to mind.

And now here I am in LA in a beautiful house with my two besties. Having already discussed with them my shitty idea about blogging about my shitty and pathetic life, and not knowing what to reflect upon because my life is so shitty and pathetic*, they happily suggested that I discuss our wonderful four day trip (supposed to be five days but we are cutting it short). And I am thinking that there is no need to periodize the past year, or to create lengthy resolutions as if there is a starting date for my aspirations. If there is a right way to start the year, it would be to live by several ideologies:

1) No more resolutions. Just change. (via and
2) If you don't like something about yourself, then change it. (via myself)

So with these thoughts finally laid out, I can proceed with my many logical fallacies and run on sentences, and summarize this trip.
  • Went somewhere beautiful in Palos Verdes and ended up playing with a friendly (and rich) cat named Kai for an hour rather than check out the beautiful view.
  • Randomly ate at a Korean BBQ place in Koreatown, then made fun of a group of Koreans that were smoking outside by blasting kpop (2ne1 and Big Bang - Lollipop) in the parking lot as we left (fucked up?...or...fucking hilarious??).
  • Spent New Year's Eve dancing with toddlers in between taking swigs of champagne
  • My real name is Megan, I guess.
  • Bought the most beautiful bong at a head shop @ Venice Beach, a strip of the eclectic, freaks and crackheads that produce beautiful art, do street performances, and offer free joints. A perhaps overrated tourist area, but I do love it, and the streets of Venice are rampant with memories of friends (from frequent visits here) and scenes from American History X (friends and skinheads...mmm)
  • Had ramen at Hakata Ramen Shinsengumi in Gardena
  • When you are five years old, the whole world is unfair.
  • The five year old stole our chez (cheese). It was our chez. She stole it. She stole it.
  • Enriched in an environment of children that speak both Portuguese and Norwegian, along with English.
  • Amazing homemade Brazilian flan. Amazing homemade Brazilian rice. Amazing homemade Norwegian meatballs.
Hard to not talk about food. Excuse me as I go downstairs to make sandwiches.

*I kid.