Burn ouuut

So Ive started my nanny job and lets just say: it's interesting. Not what I expected, could be worse, kids arent terrible, over in a month and half. It will be another fun, random chapter to the Asiankp Book of Life. I figure it will come right after the chapter on "Summer Job at the Stadium: Surviving Verbal Molestation" and before "I'm Never Having Children."
Kidding. I hope I dont have that chapter. But you never know. I may be so burned out on another people's kids that I wont even be able to consider my own brethren.

However, today we went to the park which happens to be near a school. Since its a school in the middle of the city, they use the public parks as the playground. Sure enough, when noontime rolled around, I heard screams and high pitched yells coming from the school. Suddenly a horde of plaid jumper wearing kids attacked us. This was fine and my litle charge, T, seemed to enjoy his sudden company. Of course, these 30 or so students were accompanied by only 2 teachers. And these teachers seemed to be more interested in their footwear than watching the kids. But I digress. I watched T, grateful that I had chosen a bright orange fleece as outerwear which clearly set him apart from the other plaid skirt and tie-wearing youngsters swarming him.

I heard some minor taunting behind me and turned to see a group of 6 boys surrounding a young girl. They must have been about 10 or 11. They followed her around the park, shouting her name and forming suffocating half circles and when she tried to escape they closed in tighter and laughed at her. This continued for about 10 minutes and it was clear that the young girl was growing more and more agitated. Finally, the boys cornered her into those orange tubes (you know the ones) and trapped her in from either side, pounding on the top and shouting. I began to feel a bit sorry for the girl and looked to the teachers to do something. Sure enough, there they were looking at their feet. I started to head over there, determined to do something and slightly aware that this was not my place. About 10 steps from the tube, I heard a whistle and the boys' heads cocked to one side and they scattered as quickly as they had gathered and joined the other kids forming a line out of the park. The girl crawled slowly out of the tube and looked around for her predators. She breathed a sigh of relief, shot me an embarrassed look and took up the last place in line. She stood apart from the other kids and shuffled her feet back and forth, keeping her head down. I watched her shoulders hunch over as she made her way back to the school.

I'm not sure what I witnessed but I can tell you that if I see that happen again, I wont hesitate next time.

Extra, Extra

So this week, I've winked and waved at James Van Der Beek and been "in a scene" with this star of TV's October Road. My scene will probably end up on the cutting room floor but being on a film set of a legit production is very cool. Now, I promised myself that I wouldnt get all giddy and brag about my experiences but honestly, it is very cool especially when you are actually interested in that line of work. To see directors, producers, and actors all doing there thing and right in front of you is a very flattering thing. Its like they are dangling the forbidden fruit right before your eyes but you can't touch it even though the illusion of it "being at your fingertips" is ever present.

Such is the life of an extra. Or so I'm told. I dont know if its the fact that real movie stars are in such close proximity or if the lights are too bright but I swear, every person I met started talking about their work and what movies they were in and who they met and who they saw. I even fell into it saying, "Oh yeah, that film, I was working in the casting department for that picture." It was sickening. I'm kind of ashamed of myself. But seriously, it was like an unwritten rule--I had a conversation with a guy and when I asked him if this was his first time being an extra, he sighed and said, "Oh no, honey," and then proceeded to whip out his resume and profile and pictures of all the films he'd done. When I say done, I mean, been an extra in. Another lady told me that "this one director actually gave me direction and told me that I was doing a good job. I think he really liked my look." Or another young buck started to lecture me on the benefits of joining the SAG and whether or not Robert Downey Jr.'s career was over. Another lectured me on the "language of a hot set" and said we can breathe a sigh of relief when the AD calls out "check the gate." And still, another remarked on the perkiness of the PA's. "These PAs are so much nicer than the ones on (certain film). Those PAs were all from LA and they were mean." There were a few star struck girls who waited around for James to finish lunch so they could take a picture. Unfortunately, after lunch, James went right into a production meeting and the adolescents were unintentionally ignored.

Anyway, it was fun day and fun way to make some money.

Story I probably shouldnt share but I'm going to...

So my brother just got a place out in Cudahy. I havent seen it yet (I know, bad sister) but I hear its pretty sweet and it has a hot tub. He has 3 roommates. Some are cool, some are not. But that besides the point, I mean, I'm not living with them and I have the freedom to come and go when I please if said roommate begins to annoy me.

ANYWAY, one of these roommates, lets call him MUFASA has a girlfriend and MUSAFA wants girl to live with them for the summer. So the other night, she came over to "meet the guys."

The night went like this:

My bro: Hi.

MUFASA's girl: Hi, I'm MUFASA's girlfriend. I'm really smart.

My bro: ......

Later on in the evening....

MUFASA's girl: Actually, the only people smarter than me are Asians.

Wow. I cannot WAIT to visit.

Obsess Much?

I have about a week of funemployment left and I'm proud to report that I finished the entire 2 seasons of Heroes in about a week. I should point out that Season 2 of Heroes is only like 9 episodes but still people...two whole seasons in 7 days?!?! I AM amazing.

Or incredibly stupid. Here's how its done: You have to be funemployed. You have to have a strong internet connection. You have to be willingly to sacrifice sleep to find out if Peter Petrelli really can save the cheerleader.

This weekend, I was up until about 5 or 6am watching Heroes on the instant viewing of my Netflix account. This one of the perks of Netflix is that with your membership, you get unlimited hours of online viewing. This is also the downfall of Asiankp. Unlimited. Hours. Movies. If there was a kryptonite for Asiankp, it would be those three simple words.

But anyway, before you judge me, I will have you know that I'm working on a freelance casting project that has required me to get up before 8am so its not like I'm just sleeping away the day. I'm not that lazy, people. But I might be crazy. Since completing Heroes, I now walk down the streets imagining I have powers and that I will meet a like minded individual who also has powers and we will meet and duel in the middle of the street with our imaginary powers and then we will realize that we are the same and that we have to team up and use our powers to save others and the world from some giant corporation that fronts as a greenhouse emissions task force.

Geez. Maybe I should get some sleep.

But seriously, if you could have a power, what would it be?

Curse of the Double Wide Stroller

In my years of nannying/babysitting, I am always haunted by this thing they call the double-wide stroller. When I first started babysitting, I was fourteen and my first job was for a family of 7. Naturally, a double wide stroller would be an absolute mindless purchase when you already have seven kids, whats the point of picking 2 to put in a stroller? I dont know, maybe it makes sense to you, but it doesnt to me.

Anyway, many of the families I now sit for, have a 2 kids and a double wide stroller. This thing is the biggest pain in the ass. First of all, a stroller already can be awkward to the unsuspecting sitter but a DOUBLE-WIDE (DW) stroller, 2 strollers strung together by iron and latches is an entirely difficult thing to navigate. The thing takes up the ENTIRE sidewalk and doesnt turn or manuever when you want it to. The double body weight doesnt help either. Most of the time, the DW functions to give the older kid a break when you go on long walks but I say, make the kid walk. Child obesity is rapidly rising in the states and the fact is, that if we all got rid of our DW's, I swear that statistic would drop like its hot. Kids have their whole life to figure out laziness, let's not give them time to like it.
Then, after you return from your walk all sweaty from pushing and navigating sidewalks built for half a person, you have to fold this DW. How does that latch fit there and the wheels go up there and what the hell does this lever do and oh my gosh, I just snapped the most important part. Add to this equation a baby you are trying to hold in your arms and a toddler running up and down the sidewalk. As you try for the fiftieth time to get the legs to snap into place, the baby starts slipping and you end up holding him sideways like a sack of groceries and the toddler starts getting risky and flirts with running into the street. As you yell at the toddler and the baby starts crying because all the blood is slowly draining to his head, you still cannot get the wheels to fold up. You then try and jam the darn thing into the foyer without folding it but no, the wheels are too wide for the door frame. You silently curse and jam again hoping that somehow, some way, the thing will automatically fold itself up and make your life easier.

No, it doesnt. You end up dragging the kids upstairs, leaving the stroller half folded and possibly broken at the bottom of the stairs, hoping no one will steal it. Once the kids are napping, you sneak back out to the front and give it one last try. You push at the wheels, you kick at the latches, nothing. Nothing moves or bends and thankfully, nothing snaps. You sigh and leave the stroller outside with a note that says, "DO NOT STEAL." You hope that your strongly worded Black sharpie sign will be enough to dissuade possible stroller thieves. You feel good that you used a Sharpie. Sharpies mean business.

Later that afternoon the mom comes home and quickly folds the stroller faster than you can say Jiminy Cricket. You sigh and laugh.

All these thoughts run through my head as I bike home. Suddenly, I see a roadblock ahead. Yes, there straight ahead of me is a nanny and another double-wide stroller. The street is narrow which is why I'm biking on the sidewalk but knowing that the DW is approaching and that as much as I value my life, no one will like me if I knock some kids into the street while trying to save my own ass, I know I will have to veer into the street to avoid the DW. I see the nanny start to shift uncomfortably. She knows that the navigation ahead will not be smooth. I smile and calming start to head into the street, trying to make things easier for her. However, a pothole greets me. My bike begins to wobble and I end up having to awkwardly hop off my bike and jam my toes into the concrete and my butt comes into full contact with the bike bar in the middle. Ouch. I stand up as cars honk at me. I dont know if they are laughing at me or honking to see if I'm okay. I dont really care. I'm already mortified that half of the people probably think I dont know how to ride a bike.

The nanny and the DW have already passed. She is struggling to push the DW up a small hill. I see the toddler peek his head around the edge of the DW and I swear, a faint smile crosses his face. He knows the DW has bested me. And it will continue to best me.

HI BOO!!!!!

A special shout out.

April Showers

This weekend we hosted a bridal shower for my roommate B. As far as bridal showers go, it was totally boss. There were the awkward silences, the laugh-track esque giggles, and the usual social niceties exchanged when a group of people who sort of know eachother dress up and are thrown into a room together with booze and food.

But seriously, it was nice. For a diferent take on the shower, read here as my other roommate, the ever vicious, vindictive Crystal exploits my lack of experience in the kitchen, in throwing parties and overall my lack of knowing how to simply live. She is just a vile human being really. In fact, sometimes I sneak into her room late to make sure she is not an evil computer who needs to recharge their brain at night but I have to exit quickly because an overpowering sensation of "smother her with a pillow" takes over.

Funemployment will be put on hiatus for a month or so. I have accepted a nanny job to start at the end of April and run until the middle of June giving me steady work and money for a decent period of time but also giving me freedom to continue trying to freelance when able. Since the start date still gives me about two more weeks to laze about, I'm going to try and catch up on Heroe, Eli Stone and a plethora of poorly acted movies.

View from the Bottom

So today I decided to volunteer my funemployment time to helping out a friend. Said friend works for a theater company and they needed help painting and constructing the set design. I believe the theater term is "load-in."

Natcherly, my inclination was yes, I would love to paint. FYI, I do LOVE to paint. I love getting it all over my hands and jeans and even in my hair and then walking somewhere to get a sandwich covered in my paint and having people stare and whisper, "There goes an artist. Look at all that paint on her." I feel very hipster and cool and creative. Okay, so there's no whispering but who can argue with a cute girl with paint on her cheek and in her hair?

However, I was not prepared to stand under a ladder watching an overweight male staple a curtain to a large wood wall. Let me explain. When someone is standing over you or high above you, you can see under their shirt. Depending on their movements or whether they wear an undershirt (which all males SHOULD do), you can see quite a bit. Today, I saw a large gut and a rather hairy stomach. It was enough to make me eat the paint. It only lasted about five minutes though. Then this male decided to crouch on the ground and staple the curtain into the bottom of the large wood wall. And this, was not a sight I was prepared for. His jeans hung low and when he kneeled and leaned over, they fell even lower. Plumbers crack does not even begin to describe it. I dont know what humans find so attractive about the derriere but it is not a pretty sight. Not at all. And that was only morning.

As a female, I get very self conscious about whether this area is showing when I bend over, so much so, that a majority of my shirts are stretched WAAAAY out because of my propensity to continually pull them down over my jeans in every situation that involves crouching or sitting or kneeling or...well anything really. This also happened at my previous employment when my boss crawled under my desk to fix the space heater. I politely insisted that she not crawl there or at least wait until I got out of my chair and on the other side of my desk, but no, she wanted to do it right then and there. Again, I saw the San Andreas Fault and it was weird because there was no way in hell that she didnt know it was hanging out. And that even boggles my mind more. Do some people not care that others can see? Am I crippled by an overwhelming sense of modesty when it comes to the buttocks? Is that how I snag a husband? Someone help me out here.

Fact or Fiction?

Today at work, a woman brought her dog. This was no ordinary dog, it was a wiener dog. You know, the long, long, stout dogs that used to lick my Grandpa's toes.

Yes, that dog.

Anyway, the woman had a special Louis Vuitton bag from what she called the "Wienerlicious" line designed for high class folks with special needs dogs. See, this wiener dog had cataracts so it fell into the special needs area. Anyway, the pink and white stitching on the new Wienerlicious purse looked really familar. It reminded me of some stitching my cousin had done when she spent some time in a Vietnamese sweat shop. She had decided to take a trip to Asia, fell in love with Vietnam and decided to try and film an expose on the exploitation of young Asian workers in sweatshops. She didnt get very far because she ended up loving the sewing and stitching, long hours and cramped work conditions. She came back to the States after several months with a large laundry bag filled with Coach purses that she intended to sell for half price. Recently, she went to China to investigate human rights violations.

Back at work, the woman asked me to hold her bag for her. She had a quick meeting and since my boss is allergic to Louis Vuitton, the bag and the dog would stay with me. I asked if I take Teeny-Weeny (the dog's name btw) out for walk around the office. She said fine but warned me that TW suffered from spasmodic bowel movements and I was responsible for whatever fell out. I didnt mind. I had had an unfortunate run-in with a co-worker that morning (he spilled coffee all over my new blouse) and I wanted test TW's condition on his new carpet. So we set off, an unlikely pair, me in my coffee stained blouse and TW in his extra long, extra wide Louis Vuitton suite.

At first no one paid attention to us. I rapped TW on the nose with my fist so he would make a noise but no noise came. I slapped him on the ass several times, still no sound. If I couldnt make him bark, how the hell would I make him piss all over my co-workers carpet? I decided to turn to more extreme measures. I took TW out of his bag and tossed him as I high as I could in the air. Halfway through his freefall, he let out out a whine followed by three short barks. I caught him with one hand and he rewarded me by shitting directly on my shoe. Was this the beginning of the end? I ran with the wiener dog in one hand and the Louis Vuitton in the other to my co-workers cubicle. TW proceeded to leave a trail of excrement all the way down the hall. I burst into my co-workers cubicle but noticed immediately that the bastard had had his carpet removed early that morning. Something about a spill and he liked the wood floor better. So there I stood with one unhappy wiener dog named Teeny-Weeny and a Louis Vuitton bag covered in shit.

It was looking like a great effin day.

When Life Throws You Lemons...

I just sit there and stare at them. I dont know what the word is for that, apathetic maybe? I've currently hit week 3 of funemployment and after a few weeks of positive networking that didnt really get anywhere, I'm starting to slump. Sure, I have options, temping, etc. but what the hell...I didnt quit my PR job to temp. I did it because I had a clear goal in mind, a clear path I wanted to take. I still have that path, only its become cloudier and cloudier. Damn it. Although I am hungry so maybe I will take those damn lemons and sell them for grocery money.

A Pregnant Man

This a rather bizarre state of affairs. Its weird, weird, and beyond weird. A transvestite kept his/her female reproductive organs so he/she could get pregnant with his/her wife. Eh. What a strange world we live in now.

Anyway, the video included in this link is hilarious though. Watch Oprah struggle through the interview. I can't tell if she's shocked or wanting to laugh or just plain weirded out.

10 Facts about Unicorns

Mags once told me that a blog should be informative. So here's something for you.

10 Facts You May or May not Want to Know about Unicorns:

1.) The word unicorn comes from the Latin unus 'one' and cornu 'horn'.
2.) The horn was said to neutralize poison.
3.) The myth of the unicorn orginiated in India.
4.) The unicorn is said to be tameable only by a virgin woman.
5.) In the last Narnia book, The Last Battle, the king's best friend is a unicorn named Jewel.
6.) The unicorn can be found on the royal coat of arms of Scotland and the UK.
7.) The royal throne of Denmark was made of "unicorn horns."
8.) PT Barnum's exhibit of a unicorn skeleton was a hoax.
9.) The rhino is a distant cousin of the unicorn.
10.) The Last Unicorn book was made into an animated movie adaptation called The Last Unicorn.

I want to move to LA

I'm not talking about Louisiana although I'm sure it has its merits. I'm talking about the big, urban jungle, soul-sucking metropolis in California. Yes, that L.A. It's a long shot, sure but since I want to pursue a profession that practically screams LA, then I should move there. Sounds easy enough right?

However, I may not be cut out for the lifestyle. I dont doubt there are some friendly, laid-back, God-fearing, moral folks in California but they seem to be few and far between. And they definitely dont live in L.A. proper. At the age of 24, I still feel like the freshman from high school. I'm scared I won't fit in and the L.A. aristocrats will see me for the poser I am and run me out of town on a rail.

Why I love Thursdays

Today was the first game of our spring season outdoor soccer league. It's April in Chicago so naturally it was 30 degrees, windy, and rainy. As I took the field, my two shirts were already soaked through, my thighs chapped and red, and my hands were frozen and puffy. Yet, I was still thrilled to play. I was excited and ready and had that nervous feeling in my stomach, the same nervous feeling I would get before all big games. For us ex-collegiate athletes, there is no greater feeling than returning to the game you love. You are usually a step slower, a skill set off the mark but still passionate as ever to play the game. This is why I love Thursdays. Do I regret missing the Office and LOST? Hardly. Because every Thursday night, I'm getting to re-live at least an hour of glory, pretending to be that cocky upperclassmen again, juking girls on the field and making big plays. For a few moments, I get to enjoy being part of team, bonding over victories and agonizing over defeats. We celebrate goals like we've never scored them before and we point fingers and curse when the other team scores. We get T-shirts. We go out for beers after the game and examine every play and theorize over different set ups for next week. And that is why I love Thursdays. Game days.

And for the record, we won 2-0.

I Had the Weirdest Dream

I know stories that start out that way are usually followed by some grandiose, ricockulous story but I really did have the weirdest dream. So weird in fact, that when I woke up from my dream, I was still in my dream because B was not in the room with me and then when I finally woke up from that dream, I walked downstairs at 2am just to make sure I was not still in the dream.

I didnt have any unusual items to eat last night. I was a bit stressed about an interview I had this afternoon but usually sleep dispels any notion or thought of stress, at least for me. So, the dream. It was very V for Vendetta-esque:

I was hanging out in the library, reading John Steinbeck's Tortilla Flat. All of sudden a black bag is stuck over my head and I'm knocked unconscious. I awake in a small room with cement walls on three sides and then a large 2-way mirror facing me. The celing is cracked and water is slowly dripping on my arm. I'm seated in an uncomfortable metal chair with my hands bound behind me. Across from me is a man who looks like Christopher Walken with a Tom Hanks-in- the-DaVinci-Code hairstyle. He also wears an eyepatch. He walks behind me and cuts the tape off my hands and tells me to place them on the table. From there, he begins to ask me a series of questions. For some reason, despite my kidnapping and what appears to be a rather precarious situation, I'm a smart ass. He asks what do I love the most in this life? I respond, "Red Velvet Cake." He then asks some more questions which are designed to tear me apart psychologically. I can't recall the questions but I remember them being the kinds of questions in movies where the one being questioned begins to tear out their hair, sweat profusely, demand to be released and then is reduced to a shell of the person they once were, a crying, sad, soiled mess in the corner.

But I dont turn into that person. I continue with smartass comments but begin to get angry. Pissed. Violently angry. Maybe it is working. I throw a chair and pound my fists on the table. I press my face against the two way mirror and make monkey faces and flick off whoever is behind the mirror. I moon them. All the while, the Christopher Walken look-a-like with the bad haircut never moves from his chair. Finally, tired from my antics, I slump back in the chair and ask for a cigarette. I smoke and Christopher Walken's twin stares at me. Finally, when I'm done, I put the cigarette out in my hand and laugh as I smell the burning flesh. Christopher Walken laughs too. He says he wins. Then the light goes on on the other side of the 2 way mirror and I see three of my friends: KS, CR, JR. Christopher Walken's clone tells me this is all a joke. He works for a company that, for a large fee, kidnaps people and breaks them down psychologically while the paying customer can watch the process. It's weird and sick. I hear KS laughing and she say, "Oh man, when you said Red Velvet Cake, we were all cracking up."

At that moment, I woke up and thought I was in my room. But I looked around and B was not there and this apartment did not look like my apartment. I started to panic and then I really woke up. There was B snoring soundly and the futon was there across from my bed with all the books from the library I had checked out earlier that day.

Oddly enough, I had the good sense to write it down as soon as I woke up the next morning. It was that weird.