Adventures of The Yellow Peril

PROM DATE

Later on, Chuff and the Peril went on to commit mountains of destruction.

AND SO IT BEGINS

Chuff's here.  We're getting fierce.

YOU'D NEVER KNOW OTHERWISE

I've been through two marathons today.

This morning, ES ran something like a 2 hour, 58 minute marathon, which is basically incredible, considering it was her first and there were like, only 15 or 20 women who finished ahead of her.  I stood with J in the freezing cold for an hour waiting for her, and afterwards, my thighs felt like frozen torture, so I can't even imagine what she must've been going through. 

Later on, I did a Costco run with fellow SBA'er CG for tomorrow's impending Law Week maelstrom, and then we came back to the house to fold and bundle 500 Law Week t-shirts and programs with four other SBA'ers.  Every single t-shirt is wrapped in a pretty ribbon with a program attached to it.  The ribbons are color-coordinated according to size: silver for small, black for medium, blue for large, and gold for extra-large.

Why am I telling you this?  Well, I'm telling you this because, for those of you who go to UT Law, you'll probably want one of these FREE t-shirts when you drop by the Atrium tomorrow morning starting at 10:00 AM.  Knowing you, you'll amble by, pretending to be better than all the hoopla but extending your grubby little paws all the same.  I hope to holy grasshopper that, when we hand you a bundle of t-shirt + program, you look carefully at the handiwork, the attention to detail, the love that went into that little bundle. 

If you don't, I might be inclined to take it back, because six SBA'ers spent SIX HOURS tonight turning 500 t-shirts and programs into the attractive bundle that now lays in your hands.  If I so much as seen ONE of you tear into this little package to size up your t-shirt, letting your program fall onto the floor before marching back up to the SBA table and demanding a larger size while spouting off some bullhonky about size misrepresentation, why, I may take it back.  Yes, I would do that.  I wouldn't even feel bad.  Because my little fingers are raw to the nubbin from tying these bundles, and I'm tired.  And when I'm tired, I get grumpy.  And when I get grumpy, people lose their free Law Week t-shirts.

The end.

DETOX WEEKEND

In anticipation of the crazy times ahead of me, I'm taking this weekend easy.  At least, I hope so.  I'm going to Freddie's tonight to play washers, which I've been informed is a true hick sport.  This excites me because of my South Carolinian roots.  I anticipate that I will be really, really good at it, since some of my high school activities included greased pig runs and cowpie bingo.

Before the inner hick comes out, I am playing wiffle ball with the mentor group.  It's currently freezing and wet outside, so I'm not really sure whether it's actually going to happen.  My sense is that, somehow, my mentor group will still find their way over here to consume not an insignificant number of beers, then somehow try to peer pressure me into going out with them.  Knowing me, it'll probably work.

On Sunday, I'm going to cheer ES on at her first attempt at a marathon.  Seriously, this girl's pretty amazing.  Here I am, feeling all fancy because I'm going to run six miles in April (April, which is so, so incredibly far away) and I know she can do four times that and still beat me across the finish line.  Sadly, genetics has deprived me of speed.  When it comes to physical attributes, I inherited a layer of fat, an incredible appetite, and poor eyesight.  Thanks, Mom and Dad.

Next week, expect many hilarious posts.  If I'm feeling nice, they'll include comments from my guest, Chuff.  He claims he's coming to visit me, but I'm pretty sure this visit is more about booze and the honeys.  I'm also expecting the cosmos to realign so that MTV will show something horrifically awkward, like gawky, teenage unrequited love, which will result in the two of us convulsing with laughter even though we'll both be incredibly hungover.  It's kind of like a hobby of ours.

DRAMA, DRAMA, DRAMA

T found a gray hair on my head this morning. 

My suicide note is pending.

Goodbye.

I HEART SUSHI

Maybe it was because I'm Asian.  Maybe it was because it was my birthday, and I had my She-Ra belt on.  Or, maybe they saw that we were well on our way to getting drunk and figured a little sumpin' sumpin' to grease the wheels of an enormous tip would serve their interests well.

In any event, this photo is the evidence that Maiko is the best sushi restaurant in town.  See all those empty glasses?  Each used to contain a sake bomb, free for all of us.

For those of you who dropped by at some point last night to make sure I actually made it to 27, thanks, guys.  You made turning 27 good, hilarious fun.

Now, onto actually being and acting 27...

(TWENTY) SEVENTH HEAVEN

It would be best if we all don't talk about the fact that I'm turning another year older on Saturday.

I have already made the necessary preparations.  Per annual tradition, I have bought a new facial cleanser (oil-free plus anti-aging, as I have every year since I turned 24).  I have stretched myself across my yoga ball for a period of not less than thirty minutes per evening, moaning softly while watching old episodes of "Friends" (did you know I am now solidly their age, circa Season 5?  SEASON 5!  We're not even talking about the super-old episodes where their hair was solidly early '90s).  I have rented movies about coming-of-age (although "The Blue Lagoon" still weirds me out).  I have eaten an entire block of Asiago cheese.

This year's theme to my birthday will be "How Drunk Was She?" (in a vote conducted among eligible voters*, it won against "Under the Sea").  I want people to say this all day on Sunday as we lay in a pile watching old episodes of "Sex and the City" (again, voters* favor it over "O.C." and "Friends").  I hope that people will not say this upon my arrival at my birthday party, as I will have spent the previous few hours doing sake bombs and eating sushi with my nearest and dearest friends.  I promise not to remove my pants before the ball drops. 

Yeah.  I don't know what that really means, I just think it's funny to say.

See you at Light Bar on Saturday!

* eligible voters consisted of me, and oh, me.

PS - Shout out to T on being awesome for planning my party and dealing with me as I explode Law Week all over the place.  If I were a teenager and this were high school, I'd be that girl who was cutting thousands of tiny little squares of tissue paper for the Homecoming float right now, all the while yelling "RHS RULES!"

PPS - I was that girl.

BOYS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN

At no point during my Friday night/Saturday morning did I look around at the eight gay men (plus one straight man and two straight women) and think, "Well, this is weird." 

It was only a matter of time before the gay men caught up with me.  Being Austin, it just took me a couple of extra years.  You see, when it comes to being a fruit fly (my P.C. way of saying "gal friend of the gay man"), I'm like a sailor: I've got one in every port.  I've spent summers in Rehoboth Beach off Queen Street, where gay men are stretched off Queen Street as far as the eye can see.  I've only had a crush on one before, when I was in middle school.  He was cute, really good at tennis, and liked to paint, which should've been my first indication.  Luckily, we survived the crush and are still friends.

The one thing I will say that sets the Austin buddies apart is that these guys know how to party.  I knew we were in for a long night when T suggested we play a rousing game of "Never Have I Ever," which harkened back to my college days of sitting around the fraternity house pool table (whose felt was normally saturated with beer and other dubious liquids).  Frenetic dancing to Madonna followed, with arguments as to whether the focus should be on old Madonna or new (old won).  At some point I ate a lot of salsa and had a discussion with its maker as to how he managed to perfect it.  An extended gossip session then took place.  Decisions were made.  An exploratory trip to Red River Cafe was undertaken, and scouts reported back that, sadly, it wouldn't be open until 8:00 AM.

A second round of discussions then resulted in the entire party moving to our house, upon which I did what I do best -- make a lot of food.  Two pizzas.  Scrambled eggs with goat cheese and basil.  Popcorn.  Grapes.  Gelato.  Of course, no night like this is complete without me hauling out my homemade wontons and making a miso broth with shitake mushrooms to sink them into.  We each walked a steaming hot bowl into the living room, cuddled under blankets, and watched "Sex and the City" until the sun came up, but by that point, it only took one episode.

You know that your life is somehow different from everyone else's when you wake up mid-morning with your face on the hip of a little gay man and the feet of another stretched on top you.  As if further confirmation were needed that something in my life is a little weird, the only reason I left the house yesterday was to drive 30 miles south to Lockhart to eat a lot of meat at Kreuz's Market (some of the best BBQ in Texas).  I'm not sure where this leaves me, or where I'm going, but what I do know is that I have to call my friends right now.  It's dim sum time.

10K NO WAY

Don't be fooled by me if at some point over the next few months I tell you I'm training for a 10K.  What this actually means is that I run because otherwise I'd be at happy hour with J, covering about 4-5 miles in a go, and then I come home and eat everything in my 'fridge in alphabetical order.  Shortly thereafter, I lay on my bed in the fetal position and complain loudly about how far I ran to anyone who will hear me.  (This also requires many phone calls.)  I finish this little ritual by showering while singing "Nobody Knows it But Me" (the Tony Rich Project version, not the country one, because TRP is far funnier) and "I Will Survive" (Cake, not Gloria Gaynor, just to be clear) at the top of my lungs.  Upon exiting the shower, I sit, pantsless, on my bed, stick my belly out, and play the stomach bongos. 

The only variation that has occured -- and will ever occur -- is that somewhere in the mix, I checked my Wills & Estates grade.  All I have to say is this: thank god my employer already knows that I am a retard. 

But one, apparently, who is also the idiot savant of Admiralty Law.

PERIL TALK DRUNK

I'm a little tipsy right now, which makes this post especially challenging.

My week thus far can be summed up in the following phrases:

- Had a Chinese New Year party, made dumplings, drank wine with the gay boys;

- Got pissed off at Cheaptickets.com and the MPRE, which required me to change the dates of my European sojourn to March 12-20 (readjust accordingly, EU, because I'm about to do major damage to your economy in the form of cheese purchases)  Yes, JH, I will take the same goddamned bar as you (see: retake of MPRE when otherwise unnecessary).  Cool out.

- Got pissed off at 24 Hour Fitness in Seattle, Washington, for a litany of reasons, mainly stemming from their continued charge on my credit card.  Also, I am angry because it's been 6 months and my abs are still mushy.  Although  I guess it would be highly unattractive for me to be washboard-like.  Ew.

- Had a woman who claimed she wasn't gay sniff my boobs.  Not by choice.  She said I "smelled real good," then leaned in for a whiff.  Major violation of personal space, makes me more uncomfortable than the time I went to Hoedowns, the gay country-western bar in ATL, and a woman asked me to two-step.

- Saw someone take a nametag I picked up off the ground and put it in her mouth.  This was followed by a dude drinking out of said girl's boot.  Probably one of the grossest 5 minutes I've lived in my life.

- Gave Turkey my sister's phone number, in hopes they will call and 1) ask her for a date; and 2) give her bird flu.

- Felt bad for soldado23, who is possibly the world's unluckiest bastard.  Re: sudden unemployment during 2nd semester 3L year.  Hope the fact that I love you to bits helps ease the pain.  If not, I've got this great trugole Italian cheese you must try.

Well, that's about it.  The other news is that you should come home with me for Easter.  Papa and Mama Peril are expecting you, and they want to make you happy with oodles of food.  It will be glorious.