i'm not sure what to do...

I keep getting mails intended for the previous tenant. This time it's a huge box and it looks really important because the box is heavy. What am I suppose to do?

i stole someone's life...

I sometimes wonder about the people that have previously occupied the studio that I currently live in. Although it is a studio, when I am talking to my friends about the new "dig," I like to refer to it as the 'tiny flat above a hat shop' because I am sure that had I moved to London instead of San Francisco, I would have lived in such place; a flat that is both shabby and quaint at the same time, perfect for the shooting of a romantic comedy such as "Bridget Jone's Diary" or "Notting Hill."

An envelope addressed to the previous tenant of my "flat" arrived in the mailbox few days ago.The envelope was rather thick; heavy enough to suggest that inside was perhaps a book, a brochure or a catalogue meant for the enjoyment of not only the person who the envelope was originally addressed to but also for anyone who might have come by such material as well; everyday, I walk by a homeless man in his 40s who is so consumed by his reading to even beg for change to the people walking by, I'm sure he would have loved to come by this envelop as well.

Naturally I was curious as to what was inside the envelope. Considering that the package was from an acclaimed law school and I was considering going to law school in the near future, I deemed this package in my mailbox as God's intervention and decided to open it. And when I say I opened it, I mean I really ripped that package apart like there's no tomorrow; I tore that envelope a new proverbial asshole ( I am using the word "proverbial" although I'm not really sure if it even makes sense in this sentence but I am 100% proverbially sure this sentence just became 10x more sophisticated) or if you are thinking in terms of abalones, nine assholes because apparently they have nine.

To my shock, inside the envelope was a certificate addressed to the recipient for his participation at some summer law program in spain, france or whatever, in other words some really important shit! Normal people could just seal the envelope back and send it back to the school so it could be properly forwarded to the intended recipient, but I could not undo my mistake. The packaging with its freshly ripped 9 assholes was lying motionless on the floor and even with industrial strength tape could I piece the envelope back together to its original shape.

So here I am now, with this overbearing guilt that is keeping me up 10 extra minutes at night. 'What do I do? How do I correct this problem?' I imagine him getting turned down from all the jobs he has applied because missing from his job application is this certificate, 'sorry, you want to work at this top tier law firm? we won't believe you studied in that prestigious institute all the way in spain or france or whatever, until we see the certificate of completion.' But oh well.......................... such is life?

i've...

developed a rather odd habit lately. after working out at the gym, i like to sit in front of my iMac naked while enjoying a bowl of ready made popcorn. I know what you are all thinking, 'why not make your own in the microwave instead of buying ready made popcorn?' I honestly don't have an answer. That's just how it is, like how girls have vaginas, and boys have penises.

dance andrew dance

I'm a huge fan of downloading music performances from the net. However more often than not, the musical performances that I download turn out to be some kind of bestiality porn cleverly renamed by weirdos with nothing better to do in their basements. Regardless, I don't give up and still do take the time to download them. I've always harbored this desire to become a back-up dancer. I guess it started when I was young and I would look at music videos on MTV TRL. I always believed that if I was featured in an N' Sync or Backstreet Boy's music video, I would outshine the group members (including Justin Timberlake or JT or whatever) and become a bigger sensation.

I would never admit this to my friends, even if friends are suppose to support all your outrageous dreams and ideas. When I was in college, I would practice the dance moves in front of the mirror that was stuck to my dorm door. The mirror would actually only show the upper half of my body, but I thought my upper half looked so good while I was practicing my dance moves that I naturally assumed that my bottom half would look amazing as well.

The benefit of having my own studio nowadays is that I was able to buy a full length mirror when I was furnishing my "chic" studio (sometimes, I imagine I'm a Londoner and refer to it as a flat). Nowadays, I sometimes just break into a dance move when I happen to by walking by this full length mirror. It could be at any moment, totally spontaneous, and 100% gratuitous. but damn.. I look so foolish.

" " graduation...

So, I got a magazine in my school mail box few days ago. It's one of those school "alumni" magazines that allow alumnus (is that the plural for alumni? My spell checker keeps insisting that I use the word alumnus) with unsatisfactory lives (due to failed marriages, realization that they are incapable of being great parents, or realization that they are incompetent at their jobs and will soon get fired) to fondly look back at their times in college and try to re-live the moments. The funny thing about memories is that you only remember the things you want to remember, only the positives. For example, reflecting back on my freshman year, I remember always being so carefree, going out to drink or try experimental drugs almost every night (in case you are wondering, no I'm not addicted to hardcore drugs. I wish I was, than I would be able to write cool entries about all my experiences at rehab, really naming-names). However, during that same year, I was pulling a C+ average in most of my classes (my grades were significantly affected by my attendance or lack thereof, but I thought they were supposed to treat us like adults, and you just don't take attendances with adults!), and while everyone else gained 10~15lbs, I managed to gain 20 lbs, which required me to waste my money (ok... my parents') on a whole new wardrobe consisting of jeans with stretchy rubber lining around the waist and t-shirts so big that I could have draped all the windows in my house with the fabric and still have enough left over to make dresses for all the girls in my graduating class in high school. I imagine that if I was involved in a plane crash, ABC's Lost-style, people would have voted to roast me first for my tender Kobe beef quality flesh.

Anyways back to the alumni magazine. What really irked me about the magazine was actually not the magazine itself but the letter that accompanied it; I didn't even bother to flip through the magazine Why should i? I'm still young and got it gong on... (And besides, nowadays, I choose to only read magazines that are written by prize-winning writers, as I am desperately in the process of trying to reach the level of uber sophistication that average people can only dream about). Actually, the letter itself was not that bad either. It was the usual money solicitation letter from the college asking all graduating seniors to consider donating money in return for the four "amazing" years that the school had provided for them (and by "amazing" do they mean the four never ending years of hell, when at times I was tempted to cut myself or swallow rat poison to get out of writing 15 page papers on democratic theories?). What really got to me was a simple but horrible nonetheless, word choice: in order to alert us of the upcoming graduation, the writer had chosen to preclude graduation with the word, "impending." Well, fuck- fucukity fuck ( I apologize for the profanity, but if the person who wrote the letter is allowed to liberally use an improper word to describe a celebratory event, I am allowed to let few cuss words slip by once in a while). Doesn't the person who wrote the letter know that seniors are alreadying going through emotional ups and downs everyday trying to deal with the upcoming graduation? So why the hell would he (I am assuming the person who wrote the letter is a he, because I can't imagine a woman in today's world with a heart made of stone) feel the need to use the word "impending" to describe the event. I and the rest of the world excluding this insensitive jerk use the word "impending" to describe things that we do not look forward to: for example, my "impending" death, my "impending" trial for animal abuse, or my "impending" chemotherapy for the ball cancer I got from drinking too much diet coke. So... a word to whoever wrote the letter, I beg you to reconsider your extremely poor word choice. And if you still think that "impending" was the right word for your letter, keep in mind that from now on, I will not be RSVP-ing to any of your "impending" celebrations.

i need to get around to buying...

I'm sitting in class, trying hard not to fall asleep. I should be taking notes in this class since I never do the reading, but I am not motivated (I blame it on senioritis and not the fact that I have been an unmotivated student for the last 4 years). If I wasn't so tired (I stayed up 'till 5 reading on my Amazon Kindle), I would be shopping for new clothes or sunglasses online. I've become one of those e-shoppers that cannot just buy one thing. If I'm browsing through a store, I need to buy 2,3 or 50 things in order to justify the $2.99 s&h charge. And I am a sucker for bargains too. Before I pay at checkout, I search for all kinds of discount codes that I could apply to my order so I get that 5% or 6% off. And if there are multiple discount codes available, I apply the one that offers the most discount, and than write the rest down in the comment box, hoping the seller will take notice of my ingenuity (have a good chuckle to him/herself) and decide to apply all the discount codes to my order. Which brings me to the point of this entry. I honestly don't need any more clothes (and all my friends and family can attest to that. In fact, my brother periodically sends me documentary clips on YouTube about people who launder money from their companies in order to satiate their appetite for shopping, convinced that I will become one of them in the future), what I should be buying are things that will really improve the quality of my life and make my life a little bit more bearable.

For example, what I really need to buy is one of those protective privacy screen for desktop/ laptops from 3M for my two laptops. I carry my laptop with me everywhere I go (except for the gym, although if the treadmill, the elliptical, or the spinner had a mount for a laptop, I would take it to the gym as well). And since I just bought a new MacBook Air few months ago, I want everyone to know that I own one and bask in my Apple glory. Anyways, the thing is that I always bring my laptop to class. I use it to take notes (e-shopping/ trying to revitalize the economy because God Bless America) and write e-mails to long lost friends and etc. The fact is that I'm a very paranoid person, not because I do drugs or engage in any kind of illegal activities online, but I just am and have been ever since I was a fat kid in middle school. Every time I come to class and I am about to start up my laptop, I am convinced that when the screen turns on, some kind of porn that I was watching the night before but did not finish, will pop up on the screen and alert the people around me to what a pervert I really am when I'm alone in my dorm room. Even if the computer that I now carry to class is a new one that I specifically bought for my school work (it has less memory space for porn storage), I am always convinced that I did watch the porn on it the night before (I imagine scenarios where, my dinner from the school dining establishment was laced with some kind of rape drug/ other forms of hallucinogens that might have inclined me to watch porn on the computer without me being able to remember it next day).
So every morning when I'm in class, I go through this ritual where I open my laptop about an inch so that the screen flickers on, but I hold down the power button for 10+ seconds so that the laptop reboots. I'm sure, I look much more like a freak doing that, but I'd rather be the odd kid in class who reboots his computer everyday than the kid who forgot to turn off his porn from the night before and is now parading it in class (what kind of porn I watch is nobody's business but my own!).

So, if you are ever stumped on what to get me for Christmas, Bar Mitzvah, my birthday, my half-birthday, I passed my midterms day, I passed my finals day, (I celebrate all those once a year, because I love receiving gifts) you could potentially get me 3M privacy screens for my MacBook Air and my MacBook Pro 15 inches. At first, I will be extremely disappointed by your cheapness, but than I'll eventually realize the practicality of your gift and learn to forgive you (although it's very probable that I'll return the favor by getting you an even cheaper gift).

ebay-ing

I'm graduating in about two or three weeks and in order to get rid of all the junk that I've amassed over the last 4 years in college, I set up an eBay account. The experience of selling items on eBay can be very daunting for first users, I've realized. And it is not helpful that potential buyers treat first time eBay sellers (such as myself) with the highest level of suspicion as if included in the box, is not only my "Pre-Loved, Gently Used, LIKE NEW Prada Patent Sneakers" but also an envelope filled with anthrax powder just waiting to explode in their faces. And as a eBay-er with 0 credibility to my name, even if the words "honor" and "integrity" are mixed into my eBay user name, I've learned the importance of treating other first time eBay users with respect... or so I thought...!

I was well on my way of selling my second item, "Pre-Loved, Gently Used, LIKE NEW, ONLY WORN ONCE Gucci Sneakers", when I noticed that the highest bidder was a first time eBay user with 0 credibility. At first, I was opposed to selling to a first time user, because frankly we live in an ugly world and I've become very distrusting of people over the years, but than I thought, 'where's the love?' and with Marvin Gaye's song "What's Going On" blasting on my iTunes (Yes, I know that Marvin Gaye wrote the song to bring end to racism, but , if he were alive today, don't you think he would want to end the hate for first time ebay buyers/sellers?) I decided to send him a congratulatory e-mail (although it was honestly more like a where's my money bitch? e-mail). I was so shocked, when I got his replies. Here are excerpts from his e-mails:
"hellow even thow ii did manage to win the silver gucci sneakers ii want to buy both your silber gucci sneakers and your red patent leather pradas"
"o0ok ii will try and pay asap . . also fo you have any other shoes like these that you A willin to sell ?! if so then ii was thinkin mabey the more shoes ii could purchase from you then the more of an deal we could work outt"
I mean.. holy shit! ARE YOU F-IG KIDDING ME?!?! If Bush needed any proof of the failing education system in America, I could just present him with these e-mails, and I am sure he would declare code red right away. I know I'm no Harriet Beecher Stowe, or Gustave Flaubert (I read that he rewrote sentences over and over again until he got it just right), but what was this dude on when he was writing me these e-mails?!?!

I started hyperventilating after I started getting these kinds of e-mails. I was convinced that I've been duped by some false eBay buyer out to get people like me, who just want to make an honest living. However, I was wrong. He was actually really nice to work with (as in he paid right away), and I even learned to be not so suspicious of the world: that there are actually good people out there who just love sneakers although they can't spell to save their lives. Who knows, he might become my most valued customer in the future as I have 366660000023943820948209 more pairs of sneakers left to sell.

do over...

In the beginning, I thought I would start with a fashion blog. I came up with a really hip pseudonym (or what I thought I was a really hip pseudonym) and wrote in my profile that I am from LA. I figured that if my "fans" read that I am from LA, and I "wrote" about fashion in my blog, they would also assume that I'm friends with the Olsen twins, study kabbalah with Madonna (drink the overpriced kabbalah water, wear the red string bracelet... the whole nine yards), and get seated next to Rachel Zoe as I enjoy my lunch at the Ivy everyday.

However, after trying to write two detailed blogs about clothes that I bought, I realized I am far more suited at writing about my life (and by "write," I mean complain and bitch as much as possible) and that I pretty much suck at writing about fashion (although I am extremely gifted at memorizing the 16 digit of my sibling's credit card along with the 3 digit cid, I am not good at distinguishing between 2000 different shades of blue). Also, although I am completely in love with myself, and cannot fathom why others would not want to dress like me, I've come to realize that there are 1000s of blogs today that are dedicated to fashion, and some of them are actually written by industry "insiders," which I am certainly not (and I refuse to go all James Frey on my readers' ass). So, the editors at Men's Vogue, Details, and all the other men's magazines geared toward metrosexuals or gays-in-denial can now breathe a little bit easier, knowing their jobs are not in jeopardy (for now. I might get inspired once again in a few weeks, and decide that I am destined to be the next Andre Leon Talley, which usually happens every time I make a significant purchase with my credit card).

So, let's call this a do-over, a make-over: blogger.com edition. I'm going to try to update every other day, but i make no guarantees as my life is not that exciting.

oh... mr. sartorialist... you

Lately, I've been obsessed with reading the Sartorialist (www.thesartorialist.com). My friend and I have an ongoing bet to see who can end up being featured on that lovely blog first. I imagine it'll take both of us many years, before we end up on that blog... From our observations, it is clear that this Mr. Sartorialist loves two things. He loves Asian men that dress quirky, and he also happens to love people riding on bikes that look very rustic-countryside-somewhere-in-the-Mediterranean. So, even if you are not that stylish, the fact that you are riding on a bike makes you 10x more stylish in Mr. Sartorialist's eyes. Thank God and my parents that I am Asian and I happen to know how to ride a bike with training wheels. So, if I was in New York or Paris or Milan or any of the other places Mr. Sartorialist roams around, looking for inspirations, and I happen to have a bike nearby, I plan to be wearing something really stylish.