I'm Pretty Bad at Keeping a Blog.

It's something that I've struggled with for like, a decade. I just really suck at writing consistently. Except for that one year from 8th to 9th grade when I wrote a page in my journal every single night. I'm super proud of that, even though my pages were largely filled with typical teenage angst.

I figured that if quitting my heavy drinking and finding a real job is something that's going to take me a while to accomplish, I might as well get into the habit of doing at least one constructive thing to keep my brain cells in some sort of motion.

If only I were that type of person creative enough to become a tumblr or YouTube star and make money off of it.

An Anecdote, To Lighten The Mood.

Edit: I wrote this post commemorating my 20th birthday to parody the absurdly pretentious style of writing that my boyfriend used in a four-part saga documenting the way he had met his previous girlfriend. I pretty much did this just to be an asshole. We've since broken up (one of the obvious reasons being that I frequently mocked him and he couldn't stand it anymore) and this post now is irrelevant to my revamped blog, but I put way too much effort into this masterpiece (if I do say so myself), so it stays. - November 15, 2012

~*+++*~

It began the night before my 20th birthday, with plans to try out a wine bar and have a chill night, in preparation for "going hard" the night after (at Karlovy Lazne, AKA a shitfest of a 7-story club that includes an entire floor dedicated to "Black Music" also known as Top 40s American Hip Hop).

It started as expected -- we had a nice stroll and dined at a delicious faux-Italian Czech restaurant and uneventfully found our merry way to said wine bar.

Then shit got crazy.

As we were enjoying our pitchers of sinfully cheap house wine... a wild prostitute appeared. Here is a picture of her for reference:



She entered the dimly lit cellar room in what can only be described as an awkward shimmy, and proceeded to climb on fours on top of our tables. We were extremely entertained by her attempts to dutty wine and seduce our friend VM (I originally intended to nickname him VD before realizing what that actually stands for), especially when she pounced on him in a straddle and gyrated enthusiastically, all the while sticking her tongue into his ears and grunting in an animalistic manner. As characteristic of one of his upright, Indian heritage and British boarding school background, he pulled frantically at his hair and desperately screamed, "OHHHHH-MY-GO-HD! WOT, THE, FOCK! OOOOH-MY-GO-HD!!!"

(Censored to protect the innocent)



She then sauntered away and cooed at whom we could only assume as her sugar daddy or pimp, a large Czech Fat Joe of a man in a red hoodie, and we moved to a larger table without further incident. Eventually, she sashayed her way over to a table of German men and attempted a similar show, humping a rather goodlooking one, who caught my eye with a look of plea for help. He then stood abruptly, unceremoniously dumping her to the floor, and waved for me to approach him. Obviously, I countered with a smirk and a "no, YOU come hither" motion.

During this exchange, the Czech whore decided that our table was much more fun and stampeded upon our table once again, knocking over glasses and pitchers. My friends became distraught, as she began to attempt to pull my other (small, female) Indian companions up on the table with her, and subsequently viciously curse at and violently slap VM, screaming to them, "YOU WANT I KILL HIM? I KILL HIM?"

As my friends protested and tried to explain to her that VM is our friend and we would really prefer that she didn't kill him and that she stopped beating the shit out of him, the German man - Stephen - gave in and asked me if I would like a drink.

At the same time, our friend Dre had enough of the crazy bitch's shit and took a pitcher of wine over to her sugar daddy/pimp, which he slammed down on the bar next to him before looking dead into his eyes and saying solemnly, "You need to control your bitch."

With the bitch summoned away, we were free to convene with the Germans (who we learned were army men vacationing from Berlin) and everyone hit it off well and had a grand old time.

It was then that I discovered that Stephen had loads of money and I held the power to have him spend it on my friends.

After he had bought several rounds of drinks, my friends concocted the bright idea of going to a strip club (to this day I have no idea who the original culprit is).

And up we went, the seven of us, and Stephen and two of his mates, to find a random African man in Wenceslas Square, who would lead us to our destiny.

He didn't take us to a strip club.

He took us to a live sex show, at a place called:



And from here on forth, the rest of the story that will be related is what was told to me the following day.

We entered the club and discovered, as revealed, that we were not at a strip club. This was made fairly clear by the well-lit stage in the middle of the room that spotlighted women doing obscene things to each other a la Requiem for a Dream.

Allegedly, bathroom lines were extremely long due to "performers" cozying up with patrons in the facilities and I spent a majority of the time at the friendly establishment:

a) Bitching about the wait to pee;
b) Screaming stage-side that the show wasn't even good and the girls were just whores anyways; and
c) Coercing Stephen into buying many rounds of shots for all of my friends (and trustfully leaving his wallet in my care, to purchase more overpriced drinks, as he partook in the AIDS-infested bathroom line).

I also spent a small portion of time dramatically perching onto Stephen's lap and then yawning in a drama queen, stage-like manner while preening as he gushed about how beautiful I was, before strutting over to my friends (with their many complimentary drinks) and saucily smirking, "YOU'RE WELCOME."

At the end of the night, I safely went home with my friends and promised Stephen I would contact him about my plans the following night.

I never did.

And needless to say, I passed out before 11 pm during the pre-game the next night. My friends ended up just going to KFC and drunkenly plotted to persuade me that we really did make it to Karlovy and I had blacked out before we left, so I didn't remember any of it. It didn't work because while I truly was a spectacularly hot mess that night, I am not retarded.

And while it sounds as if I am embellishing this story, or that I think I'm some God's Gift to Men for owning the rights to a [true] story such as this, you can ask any of the seven people who were present for this if what I have relayed is true. It happened, and I think it's hilarious. And any of those seven people who can vouch for this story will also just as readily and truthfully agree that I don't think I'm hot shit, and I am not a sadistic Man Eater, and I really was just letting the night unfold for the sake of the story to tell and for the benefit of my dear friends (WHO GOT A LOT OF FUCKIN FREE DRINKS).

And if you actually made it through this entire story without vomiting from either my chosen style of writing or the content of this post, then kudos to you and I warmly welcome you to the official blog of the biggest Shitshow you will ever meet and, hopefully, adore. I mean love.

XOXO (it seems proper to end a post of this fashion in this manner),

THE SHITSHOW.

Quarter Life Crisis.

As I approached, second by second, minute by minute, god-forsaken MLA citation by citation, the end of my college career, I was privately engaging in a series of mini-mental breakdowns and moments of reflection. Color me typical: all of the usual college senior questions have been racing through my mind at every waking moment. Namely:

- Where did the last three and a half years go?
- What do I have to show for it?
- What the fuck do I do now?

Ideally, we all want to charge ahead into the next phase of our lives with confidence and poise, whether it be graduate school, landing that dream job, or marrying The One and having ten kids. In the end, we just want to make a name for ourselves, on however big or small of a scale.

Where will my mark be left?

I don't care if it's simply in the hearts of my close friends and family, or if it's in the hearts of people all over the world. I don't care of I'm remembered or forgotten by others around me. All I want is to make a mark in my own heart, during my last breath, knowing that I lived a life that I was satisfied with. I know it sounds cliche, but it's the truth -- and is it too much to ask?

Considering all the fuck-ups and missteps that will inevitably occur along the way, considering the fact that I will die with wrinkles on my face -- is it too much for me to hope that those very wrinkles will not be because of the fuck-ups and missteps, but because of the laughter and smiles that have etched themselves into my skin?

And maybe I sound like an overplayed, worn out record. Maybe there is nothing original in anything that I am saying. But who doesn't have that innate, inherent desire to feel fulfilled with their life? Who doesn't want to die knowing that each breath was not a waste? Who doesn't want to have felt human at one point, whether in pain and vulnerability or in joy and ecstasy, or any raw emotion that makes them agree that they have felt alive?

The truth is, all I want is to feel this electricity, this vibrancy, this deep breath that is called being alive, for the rest of my life. No matter what the circumstances.

Love,

Me -- because for once, I am.

Quote of the Day.

"But with every year as I grow a little older, a little more well-dressed, a little sassier, a little more professional, and a whole lot less innocent, I can never separate my growth from yours. Truth be told, I couldn't have it any other way." - Sandra H.

All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten

by Robert Fulghum.

Most of what I really need
To know about how to live
And what to do and how to be
I learned in kindergarten.
Wisdom was not at the top
Of the graduate school mountain,
But there in the sandpile at Sunday school.

These are the things I learned:

Share everything.
Play fair.
Don't hit people.
Put things back where you found them.
Clean up your own mess.
Don't take things that aren't yours.
Say you're sorry when you hurt somebody.
Wash your hands before you eat.
Flush.
Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.
Live a balanced life -
Learn some and think some
And draw and paint and sing and dance
And play and work everyday some.
Take a nap every afternoon.
When you go out into the world,
Watch out for traffic,
Hold hands and stick together.
Be aware of wonder.

Something Beautiful - August 21, 2010.

"Dear friends,

I’ve been asked by Khadro Crystal Chu Rinpoche to say a few words on behalf of His Holiness Professor Lin’s many godchildren. Our godfather had literally hundreds of godchildren, spread all over the world, of all ages; in some cases, his godchildren have had children of their own, and those children have become the newest godchildren. Some of us were his godchildren for decades; he was my godfather for thirty years. Others of us knew him for only a few months. But there are many things that we all share in common as his godchildren.

To have him as our godfather was to experience a sense of safety and security that few people in this world ever experience, either as adults or as children. It was the feeling of knowing that nothing truly bad would happen to us as long as he was around to watch over us. Even now, he continues to watch over us and remains in our lives, deeply inscribed in our hearts and in our karma. And if any of you have any doubt that he’s still there and watching over us, all you have to do is go into your own heart and ask him. Even if you are a lazy godson like me who did not study or practice meditation properly, he will still answer.

Here are a few other things we share in common as his godchildren.

He touched our lives deeply. He watched over us and helped us in so many ways, some of which we will never even know about. And in some cases, he even saved our lives.

We loved him, and we loved to spend time with him. Like true children, we did not always listen to him, even when he truly knew what was best for us, and we did not always learn from him even when he tried to teach us. But, he loved us anyway and tried to help us anyway. He was a father figure none of us could ever outgrow or ever wanted to outgrow, more wise and understanding than any of us could ever hope to be. And that is one reason why we miss him so much.

He accepted us as his godchildren, he chose to bless us with his wisdom and protection, because he saw in each of us the potential to be a good person who would make the world better, and he wanted to help us realize our potential. In other words, he saw the good in us and wanted to make us even better. And he knew that we would be his living legacies.

There are three things we must do now that he has left this world: we must honor him, we must carry out his wishes, and we must make the most of the many blessings he left us. How do we do these things? We can do these things by being worthy of him: by leading worthy, generous, compassionate lives, and by making good use of the many gifts he left us. He left us his teachings, his advice to us, his spiritual blessings. He also left us so many happy memories of being teased by him, or being forced to sing karaoke by him, or being grilled publicly about our girlfriends and boyfriends in the most embarrassing possible manner. But above all, he also left us each other.

We are deeply fortunate to be connected to each other through our Godfather. By making us his godchildren, he didn’t just forge strong spiritual bonds with each of us; he also forged strong spiritual bonds between all of us – even those of us who have never met each other in person. It is now our responsibility to him to develop those bonds. I am told that his last words before he died were: <>. Work hard to stay together. And that is what we must all do, godchildren and followers and disciples alike. We must make contact, we must stay in contact, we must find ways that we can help each other. And in doing these things, we are literally blessed to have Khadro Crystal Rinpoche to guide us. All of the godchildren know that she cares deeply about all of us, the same way that our Godfather did, and we feel comforted and reassured whenever we see her or talk to her. I hope we can let Auntie Crystal know that we care deeply about her too. She is a source of strength to us. We must also be a source of strength to her.

We must learn never to take each other for granted. This is what our Godfather would have wanted, for our own good. We miss you, Godfather, and we will work together, as you asked. It is hard to believe that this day has finally arrived, but here it is. So on behalf of all your godchildren: thank you for being there for us when we needed you–even when we didn’t know we needed you. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts for a gift we can never repay. Goodbye, and see you in your next life." - David Law

###

Namo Amitoufo.

I miss you now more than ever, but I know that you are still here in our hearts, watching over all of us.

Heart Sutra.

Gaté,
gaté,
paragaté,
parasamgaté. . .
Bodhi. . .
Svaha. . .