4/4/09, 11:43pm: My stupid ass with a studly thumbs up before taking the barber shop kamikaze chair shot at The Saddle Rack.

Did you miss me? I was the drunk asian asshole at The Saddle Rack singing his heart out to “Friends in Low Places” on Saturday night. My love affair with country music has not changed over the past two years since I last updated. For better or worse, though, a lot from the rest of my life has changed.

I will not bore you with those personal details. Rather, I think I need to start documenting my tragic attempts to better my life. For example, I have always struggled to quit smoking. So to better my chances, I’ve been running lately. Back in the middle of March, I did the Emerald Across the Bay 12K. It was awesome because it featured hills, the Golden Gate Bridge, rain, wind, and shit.

Shit?

Halfway across the bridge and I realize I am slowing down. The problem is clearer than buddha, though. My balls are swinging and racking the inside of my thighs. For those not in the know, when a guy’s balls hits anything (even something as soft as a feather), he will get a stomach ache. And there I am, racking myself in the nuts from side to side against my thunder thighs, running on the Golden Gate Bridge with a pretty bad stomach ache.

Combined with the breakfast in my stomach, my internal shit gauge lurches it’s way to 3/4 full. That’s not good because: 1) when the gauge hits full, I will defecate no matter where I am or what I am doing and 2)you don’t need a fancy algorithm to tell you that 3/4 full at 1/2 way through the race will mean the creation of a new obstacle before the finish line. If full, I would probably stop on a dime, squat, and shit right in the middle of the running path. And I wouldn’t be ashamed. It would feel so fucking good.

But, I am, if nothing else, a lucky man. I find a restroom facility at Fort Point and take a fat shit. Sure, there are a bunch of other racers using the urinals. But I am the only runner who flies into a stall and drops trou to drop brown lovin’. Everything goes smoothly and I run out of there. Fort Point was the turnaround point, so I start high fiving other runners. It looked like I was trying to hype everyone up, but I was just proud of laying a dooty on a running course.

No, I did not wash my hands.

Suckers.

Back soon.

A friend of a friend is going to Japan today, so we all met up last night to bid him farewell. OffToJapan isn’t really a good friend of mine, and I don’t understand how I keep getting invited to these things. To be honest, I don’t think the rest of his crew likes me very much. My jokes go either unheard or fall flat. Actually, a couple times last night, one or two people would hear a crack I made and re-use it for themselves.

Hey, sometimes you fit in and sometimes you sit there and glare at people.

My social skills have been pretty bad lately. Although I am not much of a dancer, I do pick my nose as if no one is looking. I also keep having these enormously inappropriate erections.

I joined Facebook because The GF wanted me to look at pictures from the wedding. Damn. I am one ugly motherfucker. Not that I thought I was handsome, but I never thought I was ugly. But you know what? I am ugly.

Maybe ugly is a bit strong. It’s just that I look like a mix between a 16 year old’s undeveloped body and a 30 year old’s stressed out face. Oh wait. That is ugly.

I went to a wedding. It had some miserable moments, and I’m not sure if the couple is even happy. Whatever. Wasn’t my fault. That’s for them to deal with. What I have gathered from the last few weddings I have been to is that social manners and graces have pretty much disappeared. I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing. A wedding should be a celebration, and informal celebrations are always just as good as formal ones. But here are a couple of things I do not like:

1. People who do not look me in the eye while shaking my hand. Motherfucker, don’t shake my hand in the first place. I’ll use less Purell.
2. Tip the bartender even if it’s an open bar. I felt so bad for the last bartender that I slipped him a twenty after my third drink.
3. Don’t know the bride and groom? Thank and congratulate them, moron.
4. Leaving early? Thank and congratulate the bride and groom, fuckface.

Is it me, or do birthday cakes taste better than most wedding cakes?

My girlfriend not only dragged me to a wedding, but also oyster, uh, rummaging. Okay, I have no fucking clue what you call it, but we ended up with three dozen oysters. My balls turned so blue in the frigid water that I pissed out Blueberry Icee for a few hours. It sucked, but everyone else enjoyed it.

Anyways, to backtrack and confuse you, we had to go to a Fred Meyer before raping the oyster beds because we did not have a shovel (for clams) or a permit. While my girlfriend took care of those two items, I decided to get a pair of shorts and some cheap flip flops. After realizing the role reversal of her getting tools and hunting permits and me buying clothes, I became extremely uncomfortable with myself. It didn’t last long because my new flip flops sported a checkerboard pattern WITH skulls that had flames coming out of their eyes. My girlfriend rolled her eyes while I used a total of thirteen dollars to buy ugly shorts, cool flip flops, and an overwhelming sense of manliness.

Mexicans call that shit machismo.

at&t Park has pretty good views.

The hair on the neck, for example, feels like it’s right in front of you.

I’ll stitch a pano later.

Talking to my friend during the Home Run Derby and I realize how old I’ve gotten. Even though she’s older, she’s still having fun. I’ve been working like a dog lately because I’m trying to buy a house and planning to settle down soon. And then, it happened.

I unveiled some fart stories, allowing my inner child to run around stupid.

When I was a kid, my Dad would take me to the Wherehouse to buy cd’s. There wasn’t really an internet yet and I didn’t have any fucking money. So my Dad, being a good Dad, always bought some NWA cd for me. Anyway, so I was looking at some god awful Special K album when I noticed my Dad in the aisle in front of me. His torso jutted forward, which meant only one thing.

When he farts, his body braces itself a moment before the fart. It’s actually pretty dramatic because his torso juts forward suddenly. And then he let’s the horns blow, usually extremely fucking loudly. He follows suite this time just as he usually does and lets one rip in the middle of the Wherehouse.

What’s really great about this particular episode is the eight year old kid standing directly behind my Dad’s ass. In just one second, the kid’s face goes from “oh look, a Sesame Street cd” to blank recognition of the sound of a fart to terrifie. The kid started to wave his hand at his nose and ran away yelling, “Stinky!”

I was laughing so hard that my Dad gave me a high five. My Dad, being a great Dad, farts in public.

Yes, I can fart as loud as my Dad. But, I prefer sneak attacks in public. One time, the gf and I are at Ikea. I start to get a bit of a stomach ache, but decide to walk it out. Well, it didn’t work all that well. So I sat on a chair and laid a ninja fart. And then, I had the best idea that I have EVER come up with.

“Hey, this chair is comfy. Come sit on it and try it,” I say as I offer the seat to her. She sits down oblivious. She smiles for a second because the chair really is comfy. And then her face goes from “wow, this is comfy” to blank recognition of an aroma to terrified to pure hatred.

I was laughing so hard that she started giving me high fives to my face.

Gunpowder Gin Gimlet with Cayenne: Fantastic. Served in the proper (read: small) proportions.

Butter Lettuce with grapefruit and some kind of fancy sour vinaigrette: Um…no.

Roasted Half Chicken with a side of seasonal vegetables: Chicken was awesome. The vegetables tasted like they were prepared in a can of vinegar and salt. Get the mashed potatoes.

Berkshire Pork with Oyster Hash: Fall off the bone tender even though there is no bone. The hash reminds me of fried rice as there are no oysters in it.

Raspberry Tart with Vanilla Parfait: I usually don’t like desserts, but I like them here because they’re not too sweet.

The Presidio Social Club has this really strange vibe. They serve comfort food at uncomfortable prices. Most of the patrons here are middle aged professionals who want to still be young. None of them seem like regulars, though. Just want to be seen. The staff is young and pretty stuck up. Place fills up at 8. I’d go back for the drinks for sure, but it’s just too weird a place.

Presidio Social Club

What are you guys doing for July 4th? Usually, I would go shoot fireworks and make an ass out of myself. But now that I’m older and not quite as fast a runner, I think I’ll just go make an ass out of myself without any explosives.

I think I’ll just get in line to see Transformers. Can’t wait to make fun of the people wearing Transformer costumes and what not. Those people are such geeks. I’ll wear my Decepticon t-shirt, though. It’s so fucking cool. I just hope some dude dressed up like Optimus Prime will try to start some shit with me. I’d so shoot him with a laser.

A laser of scalding hot piss.

I need a vacation, man. A short weekend will suffice.

You know what? I need to take a shit.

Sorry, my girlfriend has my camera because we took pictures while we porked in bed. By porked, I mean making ham sandwiches and pig feet.

Anyway, so I re-watched Lost in Translation the other day and realized why I like the movie so much more than, say, Garden State.

My problem with Garden State is that it pussies out at the end. After a bunch of bullshit about living his own life independently and such, Zach Braff gets off the plane to stay with a girl who wears a retard helmet. What the fuck? Can you say douche bag? Lost in Translation, on the other hand, sees Bill Murray leaving at the end. He says his goodbye and goes back home. Kinda like what Bogey would do.

Anyways, what I gathered from this and what I want you to gather from this is that Sofia Coppola has bigger balls than Zach Braff.

Way bigger.

Thanks to anybody that made it to Colma: the Musical. I truly hope you liked it and had fun. Anyways, they sold out a bunch of shows and have a second weekend in SF. They are also opening this weekend in Berekley, San Diego, and Atlanta. If you have a chance, please check it out. It’s a fun little movie.

It’s also an Asian American movie that doesn’t explicitly say anything about being Asian American. So don’t worry about relating or anything. Just bring money.

Okay, okay. I know it’s Natalie Portman in a retard helmet. But being pussy whupped still means you are a pussy. And I’ll say this now, a man should aim to be big fat hairy balls.

Look at me! I’m so manly I’m listening to vagina music!

Found these promos on YouTube, which is this site where you can watch Japanese people nibble on ears, dress up like power rangers, study farts, play tetris with humans, etc. etc. etc.

Please click here to enjoy the following things:

1. See a great movie set in the Bay Area.
2. Sit next to me.
3. Be dry humped into submission by me and my friends.
4. Hang out with us at Frisson afterwards.
5. Never see me again after tonight. Like Cinderella or something. Except I don’t wear glass slippers or talk to rats.

So I was picking my nose the other day and came across one of those boogers that is totally crispy dry but still connected to wet snot. I love those boogers. Yummy.

Do you ever get self conscious at the gym? I’ve noticed lately that a girl acts stranges around me. Like I think she thinks I stalk her or something. I’m not, it’s just that no matter what time I go to the gym, she’s one machine away from me. It’s totally not planned.

Our eyes kinda half met today and I kinda nodded at her while I was in mid rep. It wasn’t a ‘Hey’ nod, but a jesus christ my spleen is gonna burst nod. I think she took it for the former, though. And then, she kinda looks away real fast. At first I though my nads were hanging out of my shorts or something. I checked and didn’t see anything but my -admittedly- hairy yet sexy thighs.

But when I looked down, I swore I saw something dangling from my face. And that’s when I realized I had a fat booger hanging out of my nose.

From the movie Colma: the Musical.

Wow. I update for the first time in months and xanga crashes the next day. Lets see if I can do it two days in a row.

I am actually jealous that my friend’s movie is doing well. My goal back in college was to have his success right now. Except it wasn’t to make Asian American musicals. It was to make pornographic Asian American musicals. I think there is a niche market, and I seriously would like to tap it.

I saw this documentary on Ron Jeremy once. It turned me off to making porn because there is this scene where the camera operator has to ‘dolly up’ to an asshole. It’s like physically bringing the camera, and therefore your nose, up to an asshole. That, my friends, is absolutely disgusting. So the next time you are watching porn and they give you a gratuitous shot of anus, you know how they did it.

Perhaps I should teach a porn film appreciation class. I wonder if anyone would sign up.

The above picture is from the film Colma: The Musical. I’m the guy INSIDE the trunk. Otherwise, I had nothing to do with this fine film. Movie. Musical. Whatever you want to call it.

1. Yes, I fell off the face of the planet.
2. If you are in San Francisco this weekend, please see my friend’s movie. It’s really good. More info below.
3. I’ll even let you stay at my place if you come in from out of town just to see this movie.
4. By out of town, I mean farther than Sacramento.
5. You will get to sleep on my Heavenly Bed.
6. You will not be sleeping alone.
7. By not alone, I mean with me.
8. I sleep very very naked.
9. As does my pet iguana, Shaquita.
10. According to my girlfriend, Shaquita and I both fart in our sleep. Bring a mask.

Colma: The Musical Website

Playing at the Landmark Embarcadero this weekend. Cast and director Q&A at 7:00pm and 10:30pm screenings on Friday and Saturday. Afterparty on Friday night.
Showtimes