Oh Mother.

I am suffering from CPWS -- Cellular Phone Withdrawl Symptom. I left mine at home. It always is the case that when I accidentally leave my phone at home, I always get phone calls. I normally don't get a lot of phone calls (as you can see, most of my life happens on the internet or at work). I mean, heck, my bestfriend doesn't even call. You get the picture.

I called myself, to check my voicemail, and lo and behold, my mother answers. I hate that when I leave my phone around, she just feels free to pick it up and answer it! Not that I have anything to hide, but when people call on someone's cell phone, they assume that it is a private phone used by a single person, unless you tell them otherwise. And it's not like my mom speaks English, so she can't take messages either. So when I get home, I won't have voicemails waiting, but my mom will tell me that "somebody" called.

So when she answered, I asked her why she answered my phone. Instead of answering, she said, "why did you call your own phone?" I told her I wanted to check my voicemail -- but why is she answering my phone? She said that two other phone calls came in earlier and she wanted to answer it to see if it was something important. Ugh. I love my mother to death and I totally appreciate and respect her never-ending love for her children and her willingness to sacrifice her life to bring us (myself and my bro) up. She's a supermom, and I love her. I really do.

Now that we got that squared away, let me rant. She answers my phone. (If you feel that this requires further explanation, you haven't been reading; scroll up.) She wants to do my laundry. After realizing that she shrinks about half my wardrobe (and as scant a wardrobe as it already is!) in the dryer, I specifically told her not to touch any articles of clothing that belongs to me.

When I get mad and start bitching (oh it's so evil and heinous that one would bitch at his/her mother but we all do it, admit it!), she stops doing my laundry. But as the situation gets a bit lax, she starts to take one or two items from my personal laundry basket and washes them. And she gets sneaky about it too. When I interrogate her about why my favorite pair of jeans are missing, she just says that one of her baskets of laundry was a bit empty and she needed add more laundry.

This summer, since I work all the time and have little time for else, I let her slide about swiping my clothes to the laundromat. Then it happened.

A black shirt that I had just bought, that was so slimming, was shrunk. She dried it in the dryer and it shrunk, and now it fits my cat better than it does me. Boy, did I get hopping mad. I don't have very many clothes. I can't have new shirts being shrunken down to fit my cat. I need that shirt!

I also hate pepper. I mean, I don't abhor it in a sense that I have a pepper-phobia. I just prefer not to have any in my soup (Korean soups/stews). I've been saying this for years. I don't like pepper in my soup. Please don't put pepper in my soup. I would appreciate it if you don't sprinkle the pepper in my soup. And all the time, my mother puts pepper in my soup. And every time, I would ask her why she would do such a thing, she tells me that she forgot.

One time, I caught her red-handed. She was puttint pepper in her soup and my brother's soup, looked about, and proceeded to sprinkle some in my soup! When I yelped "MOM!" She jumped. She knew what she did. She knew I didn't want pepper in my soup and yet she still put it in. Who knows why? She hasn't been able to give me a good reason. Am I on candid-camera or something? America's Funniest Home Video? Oh Why oh why oh why?

My mom has a weird method in applying make-up. For some reason, she likes to put it on her face and later, wipe out the excess with toilet paper/tissue/whatever's available. Which is all fine and dandy as long it doesn't affect me. Oh, but it does.

She's big on recycling and re-using. She's the queen mother of frugality -- I'm not the least bit frugal in her eyes, because she is the queen bee of being thrifty. She wipes the foundation off her face and onto the tissue, and leaves it on the sink -- either on top of, or next to my contact lense case. Oh I don't know. Wouldn't you think that it would cross her mine at least once that leaving a "prone-to-bacteria" tissue on top of my lense case would harm me physically? I mean, especially since I told her about 148 times already? I've bitched. I've yelled. I've scolded (I've scolded my own mother!). Nothing works on this woman!

Oh mother.

Top Three Blog Entries

You know, I've been blogging for over a year and a half. I've written 168,860 words (and counting) and wrote 579 entries, which averages to about a post a day. People, I write daily here! (And if not, I usually make up by writing more posts later.) So I've decided, as way of saying "kudos" to myself, to write an entry, citing my top three five (couldn't just stop with three) favorite blog entries. 'Cuz I'm narcissistic like that.

At number five, it's "I likee mee Alkeehol" Ah, who could forget the very post that spawned record number of visitor over the months! It is the original post where I talk about soju, cocktail soju, among other Korean alcoholic and even non-alcoholic beverages. This post alone brings me at least two hits a day. Amazing. People really want to drink soju, it seems.

Number four is: Damn Homeland Security. Gutsy title for a gutsy post. Although, the title was made, spur of the moment, now.

At number three, we have: The Man Who Cried Nike. Back in the days, I didn't title my entries, so I just made up that one now. It isn't a very long post, but makes me chuckle under my breath just a little. I'm a cell phone geek like that.

At number two, here's Out with Oppression. It is my attempt to write about the atrocious crimes committed against people in Tibet, as well as the world, including our very own, U.S. of A.

And my favorite post ever is... (imagine a drum roll please) ... Hot Pastrami, Cold Pastrami! Who could forget the epic battle fought by yours truly with the heinous deli workers at Ralph's!

So there ya go. My three favorite blogs posts. I wouldn't say that I'm brilliant most of the time. But every now and then, I write pretty fabulouos posts, if I say so myself! I think I just needed to see something I've accomplished that would let me know that I have done something worth while in the last year or two of my life. Although I'm still not a nurse, and still not a college graduate, I have proven that I can do something and stick with it. When I first started my blog, I started with the notion that it would be something I'd do for a month or two and get tired of it and abandon it. It was a thing of frivolous nature, and there would be no motivation or obligation for me to continue. Now, instead of owning a blog, a blog owns me. I have to blog. It's in my blood now. Can you say addiction?

Grammar Nazi™ Strikes Again

Here are what other self-proclaimed Gramma Nazi¢â's are saying:

First of all, if English is a second language to your reader even minor spelling mistakes can throw off the entire theme of your message. Besides, the PRESENTATION of a message is just as, if not more important than the actual message. Don¡¯t believe me? Let me run a scenario by you: Two equally qualified men are asking their boss for a raise and a promotion. The first guys says: ¡°Wassup, dog. Can I holla atchoo for a minnut? Peep dis: I am up in dis joint EVERY DAY, I gots me da education you cats wanted, and ain¡¯t no nigga up in here bust ass like me. Shit¡¦.you be trippin¡¯ if you think you can make without da number one stunna. So, I be thinking that you should swing a little sumpin sumpin my way, yanno? A couple extra dolla dolla bills, if ya feelin¡¯ me right. The second guy says: Mr. Billings? May I have a moment in private with you? I have reviewed the education requirements for the new position that has opened up and found that my resume meets and exceeds what you are looking for. Not only that, but I am a reliable, hardworking asset to this company who has proven his value on numerous occasions. I already know the ins and outs of this business, which would save you time on training where you to hire someone from outside the company. If you would consider me for the position, I promise you, I wouldn¡¯t let you down. Now, tell me, who would you promote? Keep in mind that the spirit of both messages are the same. It¡¯s the presentation of the messages that varies. from Verisimilitude: Sometimes the Truth Hurts

And from Electronic Mayhem...

Admittedly, I am a Grammar Nazi. I take great joy in correcting others' neglect for the English language, great shame in finding my own, and a deep remorse for the state of the nation when I read AOL chat logs or hear Bush speak. Admittedly, the words in my lexicon could be markedly more pretentious, but while I still use contractions in my daily speech, and I fucking swear a lot, perhaps I shouldn't be brushed off as being too pretentious, either. As a basis for comparison, I understood everything that The Architect said in his monologue at the end of The Matrix sequel, which is probably better than most of the population, seeing as many of them walked out of said flick mumbling in confusion or thumbing through their pocket dictionaries.

And of course, outside of the print blog world, people are just blatantly posting up their errors for the entire public to see: Click Here to view images (work safe, although grammatically displeasing to view!)

And there's more:

Voice of America needs to learn the difference between "that" and "which:" "As a first-term senator who has held no other elective office, the Republican Party noted that Mr. Edwards has never been the lead sponsor on any legislation, which has become law. "

What he's trying to say is "...any legislation that has become law." "That" is restrictive, and limits the scope of the noun it modifies. Which, on the other hand, is unrestrictive, and merely provides additional information about the noun it modifies. "which has become law" makes no sense unless it's intended to be restrictive. Some would argue that which can be used in a restrictive sense, but at the very least, that requires removing the superfluous comma, which makes it unambiguously unrestrictive. Also, doesn't it seem to be saying that the Republican Party is a first-term senator? from The Bit Bucket

And I thought I was bad! And apparently, I should up the ante in the whole "let's be grammatically correct" situation. Also, the term Grammar Nazi is ubiquitous. I'll need a different name -- preferably one that invokes images of a super hero (super shero), fighting those who commit crimes against grammatical decency! Also, I'll need to brush up on the old grammar rules -- I am forgetting what a dangling modifier is.

Nasty Letter

I just sent a very nasty e-mail to my bestfriend, or should I say the girl formerly known as my best friend. Since she has not kept in touch with her family and couldn't get a cell phone under her name, I opened up an account under my name for her. She didn't pay for the first two months, so I did (because the line got disconnected). The third month's bill was due last Monday, and that still hasn't been cleared, and she's still MIA. I know she's alive, because her cell phone is still being used continuously. If that is the only way you know your bestfriend's alive, well, that just says a lot, doesn't it?

I just think that she's having problems. Maybe she wants to deal with them herself, alone. I try not to think that she's doing this out of blatant disregard for my feelings. I still want to think that she still respects me and wants me as a friend. Shakespeare was right: "Neither a borrower or a lender be..."

As you know with cell phones, cancelling before the contract is up means paying big bucks for an ETF -- Early Termination Fee. Ugh. At this point, I am beginning to get mad at her. Even more mad, because she hasn't even had the courtesy to call me and make up an excuse.

After writing a nasty e-mail, practically threatening her to pay up or lose her cell phone service and her bestfriend, I still feel worse. I've been losing sleep over this for weeks now. Every time I think of her, my heart aches. I can recover the next day if I am dumped by a guy -- there's plenty of fish in the sea. But it's hard to recover from being rejected by a friend. Sigh.

City of God

I saw City of God. I found a strange irony in my watching this movie. I mean, I live in the City of Angels. It's not too unlike the slums of Brazil that appears in the movie. Of course, we don't have too many pre-teens running around with loaded guns, but the danger is still there, in other forms, if not gun violence. Drugs are obviously ubiquitous -- no one considers pot an illegal drug anymore.

It was a good movie, definitely two thumbs up. And now I'm just too sleepy to say anything else -- I'll just close this post with an update about my mental condition: I am feeling much better. Thank you, to those who cared. As Christopher said, there cannot be a great woman without adversity, right?

I will be applying to several four year universities in hope of transferring. Still nursing major. Just different place. If I get in, my bleak life will turn surprisingly rosy, and I will have a fighting chance. Wish me luck.

One of the Worst Days of My Life

As the title appropriately suggests, I did not have a good day. First, there was no coffee. I've dealt with that, but at about 3 PM, my mind went kapootz. I started then, officially, I-Hate-Myself-to-Death Day™.

Now, don't go looking for that suicide hotline phone number just yet. Y'all know that I'm normally a chipper person who's optimistic as the next inmate on deathrow next person, and I'm just having a bad day. Don't you start a body hunt yet. I ain't dead yet, y'hear? (Note: I plan to live at least until I pass the one whole century mark!)

I hate myself today. I hate my life, it sucks ass. It sucks more than a Hoover. It reeks. Yanno, I've been stuck in a rut for the last three years. Six, if you count the unproductive years (which is sort of my fault). I recently heard that a high school classmate of mine is at Johns Hopkins medical school. Good for her. But I'm so screwed up that I can't be happy for her. I have to be mean and miserable and spiteful. And I've got the big time jealousy thing going on also.

I had a vision for my life. I had a dream. I wanted to live my life a certain way, with a certain panache. I had plans. I'm not saying that since my life went on the "road not taken" that my life is screwed. It's not that. It's just that the road less traveled by was not as green as the other. In fact, it was a moldy, bumpy road that reeked. And I'm lost desparately.

I used to be a bright girl. People thought that I'd make it big someday. Most of my classmates, if they should remember me, would imagine that I went on to my dream school of choice, went on to medical school as I had planned, and probably about to graduate as an MD from a hot shot med school. That was my dream. Where did it go? I wanted to go to college -- that's not to say that I'm not going to college now, but it's a different place.

I wanted to go to a university -- a big one full of people of different cultures and tastes; I'd learn so much, from the classes, but also from my peers. I'd make mistakes -- I'd go on a beer-drinking contest and realize that I can't outdrink a 6 foot tall football-playing frat boy, and it would be ok, as long as I don't repeat it. I would complain about the music my next door neighbors played in the dorm. I'd be a stellar student and I'd not only be smart, but also intelligent and wiser.

I can't do that now. I'm not 18 or 19. I will never ever have that college experience. That went down the drain. It was something I wanted more than anything -- to go to Berkeley, and spend four incredible years and make awesome college buddies I'll keep in touch with for a long time. But that's just one of the things that went wrong.

Most of my classmates from that time have graduated from college -- at least the ones I had been close to. They are off doing marvelous things -- one is with some politician, working as his spokesperson (of some kind), and a few are in med school. They are doing research, getting papers published. They are in news papers. They're in graduate school. They're doing what they love. You know. I have been avoiding my classmates at all costs, which can be an ordeal, since I still live in my hometown. Because everytime I meet someone from my high school, they always ask: why? Why are you working in a cell phone store? Why haven't you gone to a college? Why haven't you graduated yet? Why do you look so miserable? I know they don't intend to rub it in or intrude in my privacy; but I understand how surprising it must be that miss smarty pants (snobby, smarty pants) is doing the most unlikely thing. Heck, it surprises me!

I know it's snobby. But I was meant for better, bigger things. I wasn't meant to wait three years just to get into nursing school (that's even still pending, so who knows how long!). I wasn't supposed to work a menial job, 52 hours a week. It is so completely different from the life I've wanted.

I don't mean to continue with the complain (well, I suppose it is my blog and I could rant if I want to), but there is more. I know the advice. Don't look back, just look forward, because there's got to be a better future for someone as hardworking as you. There, there, things will get better sweetheart. You know, the worst part of it all, is that I've been keeping a stiff upper lip and an optimistic outlook, just on hope. I had hope of somehow getting out of this rut. I had hope of making it, and still reaching my dreams. I had hope. But now, that hope is wearing thin.

The utterly, utterly, utterly powerless feeling that I have now -- that I have no control over the occurrences in my life -- leaves me feeling so pained, so vulnerable, so despicably hateful.

One thing new that has disturbed me (never thought of it before) was how deteriorated I have become. I used to be bright. People told me I was a talented musician, writer, and student -- I learned so quickly and retained so much. I was nothing short of brilliant, if I say so myself. But now I'm dull. I'm mirky. I'm faded. I'm a dim light bulb that's on its way out. I'm dumb. And when I am feeling this low, I usually throw in a few others too: I'm fat and ugly.

I used to speak Spanish pretty well, and now it's just not there anymore. My ability to read hiragana and katakana are also not quite there. When I play the violin, my cat bites my ankles and scratches my feet.

My mental capacity decreased. I can't memorize lines from Shakespeare. What ever happened to memorizing monologues? I can recall, "Friends, Romans, Countrymen! Lend me your ears. I have come to bury Caesar, not to..." and I can't even remember that perfectly.

I'm having an awful day. Yesterday was pretty bad, but I got the Jazz CD's and they just boosted my mood. Today, I got this:

And I'm still down in the dumps. I was really close to crumbling up the certificate and tossing it into the trash, when my mom stopped me. I'm hoping that tomorrow will be better. I'm hoping that tomorrow, I'll remember to take coffee in a thermos to work. I'm hoping that tomorrow, my customers won't dare get on my nerves. Cuz I may explode. Jeez.

On a side note, I need a recorder badly. A digital one would be ideal -- I may have to let the iPod and the scanner wait -- I realized that my unhappiness sounded so cohesive and well thought out in the car on the way home, when I was on the brink of tears, and now that I'm blogging, 5 hours later, it sounds all mumbo jumbo like. I'm getting a recorder before the other crap. Yep.

Grammar Nazi™: Eats, Blogs, & Leaves

Eats, Blogs, & Leaves

Just an excerpt:

It's time for a little tough love, people: Anyone who types in all lowercase needs to be taken out back and beaten. You are not e.e. cummings; you are not being "artistic." You're just too lazy to hit the shift key. If you can't be bothered with the extra keystroke, I can't be bothered to read your site.

My sentiments exactly.

Apocalypse Has Arrived

Apocalypse, as I know it, has arrived. We ran out of coffee at the office, and the blithering fool who works at the coffee shop just downstairs hasn't shown up for work, hence the cafe isn't open. Hence no coffee. Hence I am pulling out my hair. Oh, it's going to be a long long day here in the Haemi-sphere. I am watching my coworker Shane sip on a bottle of Starbucks Mocha Frap, tantalizingly enjoying his drink. As you know, I can't have Starbucks bottled coffees, because of the evil milk that exists within the delectably sweet sweet coffee. Apocalypse has arrived. Who knew it would come in the form of absence of coffee?

A Not-So-Bad Monday

Work on Mondays, as you know, is always brutal. It's a rough day for me, but over time, I've somewhat gotten used to kick-offing the week with heavy-duty work -- there's nothing like a sudden rush of adrenaline that keeps me upbeat. Ok, so it's not normally that chipper. And today was no exception. However...

I came home to find the CD's I had ordered on eBay! Wynton Marsalis, who is quickly becoming a favorite, never mind that I have no clue what instrument he plays! Thanks to Yahoo!'s Launch Radio, I have gotten to know more Jazz artists, like Wynton Marsalis, Wayne Shorter and Cannonball Adderley. This is the first Jazz CD I have purchased for myself (don't ask me how I got the rest of my jazz collection -- I don't want to incriminate myself -- gasp!). I had a tingly feeling as I approached the mailbox that I'd be in for a treat. Jazz CD's are usually short -- not quite like a 13 track CD of Britney Spears (which is usually 50-60 minutes of the pop starlet who likes to play bride) -- often just 4 or 5 tracks long and 30 to 40 minutes in length. So it was no surprise that this CD also wasn't too lengthy. However, having bought them (brand new, sealed in shrink-wrap) over eBay, it was extremely cheap (I'm talking under a buck here, people!), so in addition to expanding my jazz collection, I was also getting a fabulous bargain. I was ecstatic.

Second CD that came with the order is one by Miles Davis, an all time classic favorite. This one's titled, "Rollin' & Blowin'" and it's a good mix of songs -- I haven't had time to sit and listen and observe, but I'm hoping to get to the nitty gritty of it soon enough. This one is made in the UK, so it's an import -- it was also well under a buck, in fact, well under 50 cents, so oh joy for me! You could imagine what I must have looked like when I found these deals on eBay -- "are ya friggin' kiddin' me?!?!?! $0.01 for a CD??" I have quenched my thirst for jazz at the moment -- I have two new CD's to keep me company through the commute to and from work. Now, all I need is a copy of "Ruby, My Dear" from Thelonious Monk. That's such a cool song -- I've been craving it like an addict craves crack. While I still think Miles Davis' Kind of Blue is the best, I'm also beginning to appreciate Coltrane and Monk quite a bit. Jazz is lovely. So let's hear what my brother has to say about jazz (yanked without permission from his blog, which I am prohibited from linking by my brother).

=>all that jazz there is just something about the topic of "jazz" that just really ticks me off. i am really starting to think that a lot of people don't really "enjoy" jazz. rather, they deceive themselves to think that they like jazz just because they are afraid of what others will think of them if they were to dislike jazz or not listen to it at all. here are some typical scenario... dialogues... scenario 1 person A: i like jazz person B: i don't person A: it is because you are not mature enough scenario 2 person A: i like jazz person B: i don't person A: it is because you are shallow scenario 3 person A: i like jazz person B: i don't person A: it isn't for everyone scenario 4 person A: i like jazz person B: i don't person A: it is because you are not sophisticated enough scenario 5 person A: i like jazz person B: i don't person A: grow up scenario 6 person A: i like jazz person B: i don't person A: that is too bad, jazz is the best music seriously folks... jazz... personally... it is elevator music or background music. something that you listen to while you wait for something. like when you are put on hold on the phone, waiting in line at the super market, or waiting for your turn at the dentist. sure... there are different types of "jazz" music. And yeah, i admit that some are nice to listen to. but i don't think it is something to be talked of with such "prestige". i am not saying that no one likes jazz. i am sure there are people out there who genuinely love the music and respect the art. i just feel like most of the people i talk with don't really know why they like jazz... just that they are "supposed" to like it. it is one think to like jazz and put down other people for not liking it... it is a totally different thing when the same people BRAG about the jazz they listen to. of course it doesn't "sound" like bragging, but it is. here is an example. person A: i like jazz person B: me too person A: i've been listening to jazz all my life person B: (i never asked...) well... just the way people are i guess. anyways...

So I'll just say this. You can like jazz, or you can not like jazz, or you can even hate jazz. It's just a preference in music. I'm not going to say that Nate Dogg (sp?) and Chingy are deep or not, or comment on whether or not Celine Dion should retire. It's all about opinions! Enjoy them! Express them! And be happy.

An Evening Worth Writing Home About

I had an evening worth writing home about. I won't give out all the juicy details, but it was with a young man** and it was pleasant, to say the least. I got home all giddy and teenager-like, as though I found out a long time crush (which in teenagery terms, means a month!) knew my name! The said young man claims that the feeling is mutual -- now I know I shouldn't jump to any conclusions. So I leave it as an open ended statement, and not get myself in a crazy worked up state. It was a very "normal" (at this stage in my dating career (?), having a normal date alone makes it a successful one) date, and other than a sea urchin roll that wasn't quite as nice, I can't find something wrong with tonight. That's reason to celebrate, no? I officially declare this upcoming week, "Yay I had a Normal Date" week.

**I know I sound like an old granny when I call men my age "young men" -- but I really don't know what to call them. To call them just "man" sound so cheap, like a hussy, "don't you be eyeing my man, biatch~" And the word "guy" is so plebeian. For now, I'll stick with "young man" and try to refrain from using it in sentences like, "eat your vegetables, young man."

Got Soju?

Peoeple still are searching for yogurt soju and landing on my blog. Maybe I should hoist up a recipe section on the left column!

If you google Haemi, I'm the third link; however, if you google yogurt soju, I am the first one on the list! Google never ceases to amaze me.

Movie Review: 13 Going on 30

Oh, yes. Another chick flick. My taste in films has gotten cheesier and cheesier, to the point that I am actually enjoying films like Cheaper by the Dozen and Freaky Friday. I saw 13 going on 30. It wasn't quite like Big with Tom Hanks, but it was nice just the same.

The ending wasn't too great -- I may be more lax on my "no chick flick" policy, but I can never be cool with a movie that ends with a wedding. I mean, if the story line flows with fluidity to a wedding, it's fine, but I hate seeing a movie where I feel as though the producers felt a pressure to produce an ultra-happy ending, a la wedding.

I mean, if Casablanca ended with a wedding, it wouldn't have made sense. Same with this film. They had a great thing going, but it had to end with a wedding, as though they were indicating that the ultimate happy ending for a woman is to marry her childhood sweetheart.

The main character as a 13 year old, was an avid reader of Poise magazine (a woman's magazine). When she flips into the 30 year old's body, she becomes an editor at said Poise magazine. It's her ultimate dream job. And yet, in the ending, there is no mention of her working at Poise -- just a brief scene of her wedding with her childhood sweetheart hubby, followed quickly by a scene that shows them moving into their new pink home.

Does anyone else see what's wrong with that picture? A girl has a chance to do over her life, and all she wants to do is to marry her childhood friend and move into a pink house with no mention of a career ever? What messages does that send to young girls with impressionable minds? I'm guessing that a high percentage of the viewers of this film are young gals with aforementioned impressionable minds.

If I had a daughter, I would allow her to watch this film, but only if I follow it up with a discussion about what capitalism and propaganda are, and how she needs to learn to think for herself and not get spoonfed information.