Fat Asian Baby

In addition to the abuse I get daily from my increasingly too small clothing and my overbearing mother, my father just decided to join in the fun and have A Talk with me about my weight and perhaps eating and drinking less and exercising more. Apparently he was alarmed, not only by my apparently obviously increasing heft, but also by the three drinks I had when we were out for dinner on my birthday. I think I'll go eat a twinkie and then shoot myself.

Hi-fucking-larious pictures of dear Brit and her new man on Stereogum. Apparently,as the good Kentwood girl she is, she likes to keep it all whitetrashlike, but a trucker hat, Britney? Please. That was so like, eleven months ago, if it ever was. Though, with a man like that, maybe she isn't actually trying to be ironic or trendy or whatever it is we're calling it these days.
You also might be interested in checking out Kevin's poor toothy babyma.

The other day I saw this ridiculous commercial on television for some sort of tiny vibrating brush pick thing to clean between your teeth which is allegedly superior to flossing. Anyway, it was invented by some dentist dude, but for some reason, instead of hosting the commercial himself, he hired some British dude to do the talking. What could possibly make this Dr. Bunghead think that God-fearing Americans want to take dental hygiene advice from a Brit? I mean, look at their fucking teeth for God's sake!!!

Holy Crap! The Fat Asian Baby forgot to tell ya'll about one of the best things that happened on the Ohio excursion. Ambiguator introduced me to Hardees. And behold! A great miracle happened there. Let's just say, one sourdough bacon cheeseburger and box of curly fries never stood a chance in hell. Seriously, that shit is tasty.
On the previous Ohio excursion, ambiguator introduced the Fat Asian Baby to Arby's which is also muy tasty but in a less offensive to the arteries and other life processes kind of way which ultimately can only mean it doesn't hold a candle to Hardees or the Bell.
I must say, I always thought those people who sued McDonald's for making them fat were real asshats. I mean, even the Fat Asian Baby realizes that McDonald's is like, not actually that good for you and stuff. But after having eaten at Hardees, I can't really understand what exactly is so fattening about a McDonald's cheeseburger. I mean shit, they got nothing.

Does anyone else listen to Air America? Does anyone else find Randi Rhodes highly irritating and sometimes feel that they would like to duct tape her pie hole shut and shove the remaining roll of tape up her ass? She's so fucking annoying, and I can't quite put my finger on why. I just wanted to see if I was totally alone in this.

Waaaaaaaah! It appears I didn't get up early enough to blog about ViaGina and the Fat Asian Baby's new best friend (actually, I didn't get up early at all), as ViaGina beat me to the punch. All I can add is that apparently the two of us surrounded by heavy grocery bags of beer and assorted meatproduct cut a more pathetic picture than I had thought.
And see, my new digital camera did come in handy, even though I had no computer of my own. All I can say is that I'm proud that that is the first official picture taken on my new camera.
(Note: I suspect there will be another raging beer extravaganza at VG's sometime in the near future since my friends were more generous than expected and all showed up with six packs of their own so there are many frosty beverages left over. If you haven't already, befriend her now and maybe she'll invite you.)
Here's a joke: How many Overeducated Pretentious College Grads does it take to put together a grill when one of said OPCG's "accidentally" threw out the instructions?
Answer: Six (five from Columbia and one from Vassar). Apparently our absurdly expensive educations did not properly equip us with the problem solving skills necessary to assemble a grill. Who knew?
Actually, to be honest, the number could have been much higher had Ambiguator not been the sixth person to arrive. He immediately took charge of the situation and saved the day. However, I suspect his grill expertise comes less from his status as a student at Columbia's School of Engineering and Applied Sciences and more from the fact that he hails from rural Ohio and has a riding lawnmower.

I also might mention that I'm completely retarded. I was really excited with the new digital camera I bought, until I realized I don't actually have a computer onto which I might download my pictures. Stupid stupid stupid.

Ok, so I know you thought I was dead, but actually I was just in Ohio, and West Virginia. Athens, Ohio was great fun. The beer runs cheap, and the kids are drunk: all the makings of good, wholesome fun. I even took time out of my trip to make a pilgrimage to the world's (now 2nd, formerly 1st) largest taco bell. Everything was peachy until the return trip home. Less than two hours on the road, Ambiguator and I were horrified to notice smoke coming from the hood of the FABmobile. We pulled into a gas station at the nearest exit, Fairmont, WV. Well, let me just tell ya folks, if you think you can find a mechanic at 4pm on a Sunday in Fairmont,WV you are sorrily mistaken. No siree. Fortunately, the people at the second gas station we visited were both friendly and helpful. They promised to fix my car first thing Monday morning and even recommended and drove us to the ever popular Super 8 Motel at the next exit. Apparently, the Super 8 is where it's all happenin' in Fairmont. They've got a Cracker Barrel and an Exxon station that is also a liquor convenience store that is also a bar and grill. Amazing. Although we were assured by numerous gas station employees that the Exxon Bar would be open till 12 that night, when we entered the bar at 8:50 that evening, Ambiguator and I were informed that the bar would be closing at 9. Tragic. At least I got a pint of Rolling Rock for $1. After leaving the bar at closing time (yep, 9 o'clock folks) we dejectedly walked to the Cracker Barrel next door. A and I split a salad and then left since they were getting ready to close too, but not before I delightedly noticed that I was actually one of the smallest people in the entire establishment. Apparently I should abandon all thoughts of dieting and just move to the midwest if Iwant to feel like I'velost 20 pounds. Anyway, we spent the rest of the evening drinking beer in the hotel and watching reruns of Blind Date. All in all, a good night was had by all inhabitants of the Super 8 Motel in Fairmont, WV.
Ok, so yesterday was my birthday, but that was fairly uneventful, so I won't bore you with the details. Or maybe I will, but another time. I'd rather eat lunch now.

A post in Gawker reminded me of a girl I knew in college who wore vintage cowboy boots allegedly before they were hip (wait, were they ever really cool?). Anyway, I learned that after she graduated she was being paid big bucks by some self-proclaimed hipster mag or some sort of corporate whozeewhatsit to "spot trends" downtown. While I was secretly jealous of her landing such an obviously amazing job, it was not because I myself feel that I am any sort of trend-conscious-uber-hipster-queen or whatever the case may be, but rather because it was so totally apparent that her job was a completely absurd front for doing nothing. All she did was walk around downtown and go to bars and hang out and then report back on "what's cool," and yet somehow, she got paid. Bitch.

Today the Fat Asian Baby's Mummy came home from the market with two loaves of Carb Counter Whole Wheat bread. I am frightened. Very, very frightened.

Oddly enough, I received a letter in the mail today from a certain grad school in New Haven that I applied to in a moment of sheer, well, i dunno, idiocy. After I came to my senses and realized that New Haven life would most likely not afford me a swimming pool or easy access to cheesy grits and a dope hip-hop scene, I decided not to bother sending in my reference recommendations. I assumed that by failing to submit like, 1/3 of my application through sheer laziness, I was tacitly withdrawing my application...which is why I was so surprised to learn today that I've been placed on the wait list. Verrry interesting. Must remember to call them and formally withdraw application when I return from journey to Ohio. Apparently failure to complete application was not clear enough.

A word to the wise: it is rather difficult to maintain a blog when you're living at home, are forced to use your father's personal computer for all your computering needs due to lack of your own device, and your parents are both retired and lurking behind your shoulder with alarming frequency. In these sorts of stealth blogging situations, one learns that it is necessary to constantly erase one's own URL from the web browser's history lest your father or mother, in a moment of characteristic curiosity (read: irritating nosiness) actually finds him or herself reading about their precious daughter's non G-rated escapades. This gets somewhat annoying.
I had fleeting moments of hoping they wouldn't connect the fact that the Korean, Jewish female bloggerette about to go to Paris and then move to Atlanta was not, in fact, their own daughter but rather was some other Fat Asian Baby living a parallel existence. But then I sobered up.

Well, in less than exciting news, I just got back from a doctor's appointment where I learned that I've gained a healthy 20 or so pounds since I graduated from college. That would be a good amount of weight if I were, say, 8 months pregnant, but since as far as I know, I'm not, things don't look too good on that front. Perhaps I shouldn't scoff at Midwestgrrl's atrocious cereal diet and whatnot. On the bright side, I'm about to close on subletting an apartment in Montmartre for three months. Apparently that area (which is where Amelie lived in the film) is quite hilly so maybe this will help whip me into shape thereby obviating the need for the harvesting fat from my tummy and implanting in my pancake ass operation i've so been wanting lately.

Doggone it! I'm feeling rather peckish this morning, though I've only been awake for about thirty minutes now. Ambiguator is at class so I thought I'd creep into the kitchen and take a big bite out of the leftover half of his giant burrito from favorite Mexican eating establishment, Taqueria Y Fonda. I could neatly wrap it back up, replace it in the fridge, and nobody would ever be the wiser (well, perhaps the savage teeth marks would betray my guilt, but no matter). Unfortunately, my ingenious burrito-nabbing plans have been foiled since his burrito is securely wrapped in tin foil (which i knew) but also then encased in a brown paper bag that is literally locked (locked i tell you!) in a plastic shopping back with an uninviting looking knot to keep me out. Alas, the only way to access the precious burrito would be to tear open the bag, thus blowing my cover. Of course, given that this is a college dorm suite, and one inhabited by boys no less, the fridge contains nothing else that promises to be even remotely appetizing less a few six packs of the most excellent beverage, Natural Light. I regret to admit, however, that even the Fat Asian Baby is daunted at the prospect of Natty Light for breakfast. There was once a few days when i breakfasted on Coors Light, but I was younger then and in Hawaii on springbreak so that was a different situation entirely. And furthermore, I am not the better for it.

Well, since the Fat Asian Baby is a complete egomaniac, I thought I'd take a moment to point out two of today's Gawker gossip roundup items involving various of my supposed doppelgangers (read: other Asian women). First is a bit about some WB news reporter getting married and mentions Kaity Tung who, if we are to believe the guy who fitted me for contacts last month and also fitted Ms. WB News Anchor's contacts, is my vocal twin. Apparently our voices are identical. Who knew?
Second item is a mention of the ever ridiculous Ms. Kimora Lee Simmons who some of my more deranged acquaintances seem to think is my high budget DG. Or is she the low budget Fat Asian Baby? Hmm...

The Fat Asian Baby thought it was somewhat interesting that the NYTimes ran a big story on Sunday about Ana Marie Cox and Wonkette, although it was in the Styles section, but whatevs. Is it just me, or does it seem funny that a big part of the author's angle was about Wonkette's (and blogs' in general) only passing concern with accuracy and its, ahem, "paper-thin sourcing?" Um, you realize you're writing for like the Times, right?

Here are a couple little vignettes from the play I'm writing about my cousin's Bar Mitzvah.
SCENE
Setting: elevator waiting area, lobby of hotel in affluent Boston suburb.
characters: our hero will be played by the Fat Asian Baby herself
Obnoxiously Precocious Female Devil-Child from Georgia where the peaches grow, about seven
years old
Assortment of other hotel guests

Obnoxiously Precocious Female Devil-Child: to our hero You're really pretty
Fat Asian Baby: Thank you. You're really pretty too.
OPFD-C: I really like people with slitty eyes. I think Chinese people are really pretty. Pulls on corner of own eyes as though to punctuate point.
FAB: I'm not Chinese.
OPFD-C: I like Japanese people too.
FAB: I'm not Japanese.
OPFD-C: Well I like slanty eyes that are really small. Can you see very much? You're eyes are so small.
FAB: Yeah they're kinda small, but I think I can see as much as other people.
OPFD-C: But they're like small slits. How do you see? Can you see up there? Gestures toward the celing.
FAB: I dunno how it works. But you know, some people have small mouths but they still talk too much.
OPFD-C: Like me!
FAB: yep. Just like you.
Elevator doors open. Everybody gets on. Doors close.
END SCENE

NEW SCENE
Setting: "bar" inside catering hall in affluent Boston suburb
Characters: again, our hero will be played by the Fat Asian Baby
Gentleman of a certain age, manning the parking validation stamp which is somewhat ironically
located at the bar while apparently also filling in as bouncer for the bar area.
Other adult Bar Mitzvah celebrants
College Age Bar Mitzvah Attendee
Flamboyantly Bitchy Catering Hall Manager

Fat Asian Baby waits patiently for her bloody mary while assistant bartender runs downstairs to replenish ridiculously depleted supply of bloody mary mix (note: bar mitzvah reception had begun about 10 minutes earlier, so it is unclear why they had already run out of bloody mary mix at this early point in the game unless they had foolishly brought up only one, read it, one bottle of bloody mary mix to set up the bar).

Gentleman of a Certain Age: to Fat Asian Baby Are you over 18?
Fat Asian Baby: The drinking age is 21 now. And yes, I'm over 21. Thank you. FAB takes bloody mary and walks away from bar.
Cut to fifteen minutes later, table 16. FAB seated next to College Age Bar Mitzvah Attendee also drinking a bloody mary, murmured polite conversation...
Flamboyantly Bitchy Catering Hall Manager suddenly appears behind FAB and College Age Bar Mitzvah Attendee
FBCHM: in an abrupt and accusatory manner to CABMA, Did you get that drink yourself?
CABMA: yes.
FBCHM: do you have ID?
CABMA: I didn't bring it with me to the Bar Mitzvah, no.
FBCHM: swoops in, removes offending drink. You can't have that. Stalks off with drink leaving CABMA and FAB bewilderingly pondering the exchange and blatant robbery of precious bloody mary.
END SCENE

Ok kiddies, so I'm off to Beantown for the weekend for my cousin's Bar Mitzvah. Blah blah blah. At least this festivity gave me an excuse to buy a new pair of shoes, or was it two new pairs? Anyway, does anybody else think it like sucks a fat one that when my father reserved hotel rooms for our family for the weekend, I apparently still did not warrant my own room. I get to sleep on a cot with either my parents or my brother and his preggo wife. I bet I'm seated at the goddamn kids' table too.
Assholes.

What an extraordinarily fantastic use of this thing called the internet! Cheesenet, via Frog and Goat. I am glad there are likeminded people out there. It makes me feel a little less hopeless and lot more cheesehungry. Fat Asian Baby dreams of pursuing a degree or interning at the Artisinal Cheese Center.
Related: Taco Bell makes the Fat Asian Baby v. v. happy.

What kind of sicko degenerate asshole loser beats up a cat???!!!

And speaking of cats, I miss supercat Gus who's currently pushing up daisies in my parents' backyard, but this one is pretty cute too. His facial expressions suggest that we share a similar demeanor. Perhaps Thompson is my feline alter ego.

Hearing about these Japanese hostages in Iraq has been quite upsetting to me, and not because I just looooove Japanese people (though the sushi I had for dinner last night was quite tasty thank you) and not specifically because it may be indicative of an ever escalating level violence in Iraq per se. No, I'm upset because I thought that if tomorrow I somehow found myself in one of the more tumultuous parts of the Middle East, I could squeak by because I'm Asian (muahahahaha and once I get all up in my chador, who's gonna know I'm American [aak!] and Jewish [eeep!]). Dammit, I could've sworn they didn't have beef with the Asians. Oh well, I guess I was wrong. Thanks for dashing my dreams of hypothetical safety, you hostage takers you.

On a mostly unrelated note, last night I dreamt that I was in some foreign country called rural Pennsylvania except it really was a foreign cause I was eating in a small shack that turned out to be a North Korean restaurant (and yes, in my dream a North Korean restaurant would have food, so shut up you yuksters). Anyway, the people cooking the food at the North Korean restaurant were very excited to learn that I was Korean and gave me extra helpings of beef and kim chi. Mmmm Korean marinated beef and stinky stinky kimchi. What more could my obliviously fictive self want?

On another mostly unrelated note, I'd really like one of those Kobe Beef Burgers some of the high end restaurants in New York are serving. Thanks.

In honor of ambiguator's home state and my visit next week, check out Six Things You Don't Know About: Ohio from those clever folks at BlackTable. You just might learn something. And speaking of lawn animals, try as I might, I cannot seem to recall where in the journey of life I got separated from the beloved plastic flamingo I liberated from a grassy knoll in Memphis, TN. Has anybody seen him? Last time I saw him he was quite pink and down to only one leg.

Yowzers! There's been much noise made today over the release of a report finding that the average price of a New York City (read: Manhattan) apartment is 1 million smackeroos. I suppose this statistic isn't all that shocking considering that a few months ago industry insiders told us the number was well over $900 grand. Well shucks, even though, as the New York Times reports, the numbers are probably skewed due to the high number of super luxury celebrity really rich people ridiculous apartment sales that go down in the Big Apple, I'll be perfectly content sitting here sipping my PBR and thinking about the $400 a month I'm going to be paying for my condo in Hotlanta very soon. And mine even comes with a jacuzzi and a pool. So just eat me, Douglas Elliman. I'm taking my millions to the Dirty South.

The Fat Asian Baby is deeply regretting the decision not to visit L. in Chicago this week. As if reading my indecisive mind, this week the New York Times taunts me with a tremendous article about Chi-town's gastronomical delights featuring, among other things, a huge picture of Polish Sausage and a yummy looking multimedia meatstick slideshow.

Wow, the Fat Asian Baby was shocked to read in today's New York Times via Gothamist that graffiti artist De La Vega has been arrested. I have had a strange fascination with and admiration of De La Vega ever since I first saw his chalk scrawled tidbits on the sidewalks of Morningside Heights. In the ensuing years, I have seen De La Vega's words pop up on every corner of Manhattan, including inside bars, way downtown, and outside my UES office. Because his words seemed to appear out of nowhere - I had never actually seen the man in action even though his words are everywhere- he became a sort of mythical urban hero to me. Thanks to the article, I could finally put a face to the legend. This latest arrest saddens the Fat Asian Baby, though, as Gothamist points out, he is a graffiti artist and graffiti is illegal.
The Graffiti/Art discussion makes the Fat Asian Baby think of the graffiti enthusiasm of the protagonists in Jonathan Lethem's excellent novel Fortress of Solitude.

FYI: the chapter in Al Franken's new book about his trip to BJU (that would be Bob Jones University, for all you ignorant infidels) is highly amusing. I'm not sure what it is exactly that tickles me so about Christians, but I've definitely noticed a trend. ...which reminds of the time when I was with viagina and cronies on a road trip through Kentucky and Tennessee. After having my inquiry about obtaining a hunting license summarily and rather rudely shot down (har har no pun intended. seriously, i hate puns) by the desk clerk at a gas station convenience store somewhere in Tennessee (or was that Kentucky?), I thought I would find solace in the baby Jesus sweetly sleeping in the manger in the bushes in front of said store. Actually, I thought I would find solace in removing the plastic child from his resting spot and finding him a new resting spot strapped to the grill of our vehicle, but no matter, just as my hot little hands were mere inches from the young lord, I noticed the convenience store clerk (yes that very one that moments earlier had denied me a hunting license application despite signs in the window clearly advertising their availability) eyeing me suspiciously out the window whilst seeming to lean down and rummage for something under the counter. At that exact moment, one friend came running out of the convenience store snorting something about how she'd absentmindedly walked out of the store without paying for her coffee and only remembered as she was halfway out the door and we'd better get the fuck out of there now. Sadly, I had to abandon my Jesus liberation initiative and well, get the fuck out of there. Jesus, we're such assholes. gaaah!

Call me bitchy, but reading about Courtney Love's neverending series of trials and tribulations and drug busts and custody battles and assorted whatnot miraculously such as in today's Daily News makes the Fat Asian Baby feel somehow accomplished in life. Like, doggone it, I must really have my shit together, don't I? I am just a-ok! Everything is coming up roses over here. I mean, sure I live with my parents who make me get up early in the morning and yell at me for not making my bed. And maybe I do spend many hours each day fantasizing about riding ponies and pioneering time travel, but next to Courtney, I am the next Hillary Clinton. Ok, bad example maybe. But you know what I mean. Of course, I am not the baby mama of Kurt Cobain's love child, so she's got me on that one...
Speaking of Courtney, if I am not mistaken, viagina once inadvertently dressed up as the oh so amusing she-devil for Halloween. Or was that Marilyn? I'm so easily confused.

I was enjoying a rather rubbery piece of matzah kugel, when I read this little tidbit Page Six. Riiiiight.

I must apologize for my prolonged absence from the cyberworld. Let's just say it's difficult maintaining a blog when you're temporarily trapped at home with parents, no cable tv (sob!), and no personal computer. Last night, father derided my choice of television programming: American Idol and Law and Order SVU. In reference to American Idol, he couldn't believe that a) anybody outside of the high school demographic actually watched that show and b) "i can't believe our television even gets Fox. I'll have to do something about that." As for Law and Order SVU, after the discovery of a semen filled condom with lipstick marks on it in the first 45 seconds of the show, let's just say it was all downhill from there...
This morning somebody tried to wake me up at an ungodly hour to go to some museum exhibit in Westchester. I'm still not sure exactly who the culprit was.
At least my sweatpants drawstring has been returned to its proper orientation. Thanks mom.

Dude, check out these shoes, brought to the Fat Asian Baby's attention by a reader (who incidentally also used to be my roommate). They've got spinning rims! Or in street slang: yo, check out the shoes on those shoes, son. They're so tight!
Fat Asian Baby wishes she could hook her prius up with sweet spinning rims on 22 inch pirellis. it'd be the hottest gas electric hybrid cruising through the streets of Hotlanta! boom!

On a potentially positive note, there are only 10 days left till opening day at Shea. Here's to hoping this season doesn't suck as much as last season (though admittedly, that'd be pretty hard to do).
Let's Go Mets!

Oh god. I have officially made my return to the suburban lifestyle, and worse, to my parents' house. After two days of successfully dodging urgent parental phone calls with some transparent excuse about patchy cell phone service, I finally had to face the music and retreat to Westchester for a dentist appointment. A word to all dental hygeinests (goddammit. i hate spelling. how do you spell hygeine? hygiene? fuck it. you know what i mean) out there: no matter how cheerful you are, i'm still not going to like you. in fact, i'd say my level of genuine friendliness will be inversely proportional to your level of forced cheerfulness. So just save it.
Now I'm pitifully stripped of smokes, booze, and illegal substances earmarked for recreational consumption, and I'm trapped in an old house, the internal climate of which resembles that of a refridgerator, with two bossy jewish people who like to tell me what they think i should do with my time right now, tomorrow, and every day thereafter. And worst of all, there's no cable tv.
HELP!