this long weekend i accidentally watched 'aliens vs monsters' and to my dismay,

insectosaurus is quite possibly the only cute insect i've ever seen. i mean, as much as a fuzzy retarded insect can be called cute that is.

i bought shampoo today and upon arriving at home and taking a whiff, it smells like maraschino cherries. i hate maraschino cherries.

when i was younger, my mom would buy a blackforest cake for numerous birthdays but it wasn't till i was older, when she brought home a dirty blackforest filthy jam cake, i took my dad's truck out bought myself a 40$ gourmet cake and refused to give her a slice. such is family i guess.
HAPPY EASTER.

in ottawa about two years ago, there was this pair of weird Puma bizarro half slipon-ed jogging shoes in white which is also a colour which i'd never want, and i didn't get them at first glance cause they were sooooooo random, but then i ended up having a honeymoon stage for about a month straight dreaming of how much i wanted them so i went back and bought them only to never wear them once, ever, to this day.


the other day on the subway there was a halfpint version of me wearing them that looked like my sour mother and i kinda want to vomit in these unworn shoes and then burn them.

i ate walnuts at noon and spent about ten hours vommiting. i'm feeling exceptionally on top of the world today.

the other day overtop black leggings or longsocks, my boss was wearing a deep royal purple capri length, flared wideleg, highwasted pant with a short cut, atrocity of a blazer-top-thing, volumptuous-fatty-garment.

rediculous, right?

in plain english for all you men,

she looked like grimace.

i work beneath a woman who is paid a notably larger salary than mine, who chooses to dress herself in a grimace-like manner.

baffling really. i personally would like to look like a russian babushka doll, but what does that matter, because my appearance is getting written up by a shapeshifter who chooses to be an upsidedown purple bouquet of bridal flowers. it is what it is i guess.

those poor unsuspecting asian children are me and my coworkers, unable to point out that she may be the long lost purple barbapapa.

(this is a french cartoon show from a billion years ago, it translates in english to 'cotton candy' those mutated rainbow blobs are cotton candy - how wretched, i know.)

how obscene really. i mean, aside from hating all of the mcdonalds characters, i don't really know which end of the spectrum i'm on about the hamburglar still, only because i like the name hamburglar;

but come ON, one wide can opening hick yokel tooth? throw him beside this eggplant coloured gumdrop chicken mcnugget mystery blob, YEAH THATS WHAT I WANT MY CHILDREN TO GROW UP WITH. how confusing.

even more confusing?

this ahem, "hand puppet" which may be a fancy word for condom inclusive with cockring and GRIMACE ARMS.

don't you hand puppet me. do you realise who you're toying with? i've heard it all when it comes to sex, besides, i can see the grimace faced reservoir tip.
the only thing more enraging than that filthy sack of a armed condom is the fact at how mad would you be after it broke and GRIMACE LITTERALLY IMPREGNATED YOU.

a comedy club is around the corner from my home and i always eyefuck it when passing by, contemplating on watching, or worse attempting. too afraid mostly of watching the unfunny, even worse being unfunny, or the worst fate of all, coming off as some chatty cathy jenny seinfeld with hand movements galore. best kept at bay in a blog i think. i could write a fucking enclyclopedia gillen on retarded instances of my childhood though. thanks mom, speaking of mom....speaking of unsuspecting azns;

knock knock who's there?



tsunami.

i hate cherubs more than my mother.

and on that note, with the beginning of a new layout colour scheme, i remove all colour from pictures.

xmas schmexmas.

so in the spirit of christmas, here i am on christmas eve trying to de-irritate myself - so i decide to have a bath. this is shortly ruined by the sound of a woman through my closed windows, about a couple houses down the street greeting each of her guests as they arrive, by yelling festive things...which isn't out of the ordinary , or really in my favour to hate on except for one thing;

she sounds like fran drescher.

yes, even fran drescher has a biography. how do i know? because my mother owns it. my petite sour asian mother who hates most-if-not-all owns fran drescher's biography. of course my mother is the only person who owns this, why wouldn't she?!


i mean, maybe even my mother mistook her for a half Real Doll half Asian cross breed.

who am i to bitch and moan,
with such a long list of credentials, it's a wonder anyone hates her at all. she's also done an Adobe PDF eBook called Cancer Schmancer, and because of such, is toying with running for Congress apparently. i dont think someone entirely composed of poufy hair and an erratic nasal machine gun laugh can do such a thing, but hell, they put a cat in space, what do i know.

thanks france.

harro, you like ne-ka-lass.

this is essentially my mother.

groan.

so,

ive got a blog again. i mostly have talked so much about wanting to get back into blogging, missing writing, not really having an accurate depiction of how mad i get at times at the most ridiculous things...that yes, i've gone and done it. i've gone off to the e-deep end and i've abandoned livejournal and committed to blogger. as an introductory post which will go down in history as my first blogspot entry, im gonna leech off of margaret cho and make fun of my asian heritage. god bless jenny and her dickies.

now. everytime i mention dickies, everyone either looks at me utterly confused as to what i'm even rambling about, or with a bizarre leer as to why my mother is wearing the same pants as avril lavigne. s8ter m0m never really caught on.

but no. these are dickies. this is a dickie.
hell, even a fleecy dickie to tickle your fancy or maybe even to crawl into on groundhog day and kill yourself when you dont feel like putting up with winter for another few weeks.

sorry mutt. is not a dickie.

but wait, i know i know, youre all thinking, but jen , what about all the various holidays i celebrate. really? you think they can cut the neck out of a turtleneck and put a loincloth on your chest but not be prepared for passover? YOU FOOL welcome to the easter dickie.
get ready to slip into your most queer dickie variety, thats what.

thankfully to ready yourself for hilarious testimonials, they prep you to fear for your life with mannequins, which have the eyes of albino hamsters. i mean, if that doesn't increase sales, call me silly !
"my order arrived here at the office in the morning mail. Quick service!! Thanks. I’ve got the navy one on already under my lighter blue work shirt, and it looks and feels great. After I model for my wife, I’m sure I’ll want more. Dave
if a husband, or for that matter, anyone i've ever rubbed genitals with in a past present or future life, had ever once even had the dimmest bulb of a thought of "yeah, jen will totally dig this dickie".... i can't even finish this thought due to excessive gagging and convulsing it's brought on, but it'd probably include an abortion, two paperclips, and spam.

i could ramble all night about this, i'll probably go out now and think of various other google image searches i couldve done and touch base on this tommorrow. and no, "dickies naked sluts" didnt turn up anything interesting unfortunately. 'naked dickies turtlenecks' did however provide a cute lil idea for st patricks day.