(no subject)
Written to Kirin a year ago.
"re: drunken puke
I got FACED two weeks ago and made out with an australian at a bar (to which I can never return); gave a lecture to two asian girls about how playing cute with guys is annoying; threw up on my gay boyfriend's hands, my pants, my shoes, and the street; then in typical bianca fashion, I sat in the road and refused to get up.
Jaeger is the devil."
I like to document my embarrassments because when something else embarrassing happens, I can point to the previous embarrassment and say, "Well at least I didn't _______________!"
For example, this last weekend: I commented on the good looks of an author I saw at a lecture at the L.A. Times Festival of Books. Kirin says, "I like him for you," and decides to match-make. This man does not know I exist. He is a brilliant, hilarious Yale graduate who wrote a memoir about his Peace Corps days; I carry plastic dinosaurs in my purse and wear sparkle nail polish.
Despite my protests and attempts to physically restrain her, Kirin decided to give him my number, along with the small, glow-in-the-dark Tyrannosaurus Rex that was in my purse. Later, he walked by us (talking to some cheap-looking but attractive woman with an even tan) and acted like we didn't exist. But was not covered in alcoholic vomit, so I emerge a winner from that situation. Thank you, experience.
"re: drunken puke
I got FACED two weeks ago and made out with an australian at a bar (to which I can never return); gave a lecture to two asian girls about how playing cute with guys is annoying; threw up on my gay boyfriend's hands, my pants, my shoes, and the street; then in typical bianca fashion, I sat in the road and refused to get up.
Jaeger is the devil."
I like to document my embarrassments because when something else embarrassing happens, I can point to the previous embarrassment and say, "Well at least I didn't _______________!"
For example, this last weekend: I commented on the good looks of an author I saw at a lecture at the L.A. Times Festival of Books. Kirin says, "I like him for you," and decides to match-make. This man does not know I exist. He is a brilliant, hilarious Yale graduate who wrote a memoir about his Peace Corps days; I carry plastic dinosaurs in my purse and wear sparkle nail polish.
Despite my protests and attempts to physically restrain her, Kirin decided to give him my number, along with the small, glow-in-the-dark Tyrannosaurus Rex that was in my purse. Later, he walked by us (talking to some cheap-looking but attractive woman with an even tan) and acted like we didn't exist. But was not covered in alcoholic vomit, so I emerge a winner from that situation. Thank you, experience.