what shall we toast to?
so jokester says that the words of the break were "bar" and "stones." but i'd say the words of the break were "random ass folks from back in the day" and "the mixing of two worlds." here's the two week holiday night recap:

mon/22: elbo room with biff, kimi, ali, freesia for gift exchange and ocean beach ice teas that are KILLER
tues/23: THE ONE NIGHT I CHILLED AT HOME
thur/25: dragon lounge with crys ("did you bring the coochie??"), frees, ali, cherry, jonny and crew, laurie and crew (eug, poof, pete, keith, jeannie, crit, scott)
friday/26: hobson's choice/city tavern/blue triangle with elementary school crew, middle school crew, high school crew and hella friends (aka night of randoms aka night of john solomon)

check out my phantom shot hand--my hand is actually starting to curve naturally into the shot glass holding position. not a good sign.
sat/27: 26mix for kathy's birthday with kimi

me and frootz (she looked like that in every picture)
sun/28: frjtz/crepes on cole/tart/pig mania domination with lin, dennis, jokester, and kat
mon/29: berkeley/zachary's with cherry, alice and lin, then ghiradelli/twin peaks with lin and jokester
tues/30: valencia/place pigalle with dc crew: alice, jaime, lin, dennis, scott
weds/31: freezy's heezy
thur/1: tart with jai and lin
fri/2: elbo room and toxic ocean beach ice teas with the margotbot, boyfriend of the bot, and friends of the bot (incl. this guy i went to preschool with)
sat/3: julip/bliss bar/pupusas with alice, scott, dan, biff, alex, kimi

"today is for god, not for dates!" -- freesia, today
"you're a marxist with fashion sense." -- biff
"you're gonna have a hella strong urinary tract! OK? OK??" -- me to jokey
"you like that movie, huh." -- jonny to lin
"we made sweet, sweet lipstick all night long." -- crystal

just a new year's list.
"waltz #2," elliott smith
"so says i," the shins
"gigolo," nick cannon feat. r kelly
"it's my life," no doubt
sea change, beck
the complete stone roses, stone roses
another fine coaster, samson lee
transatlanticism, death cab for cutie
the namesake, jhumpa lahiri
the rotter's club, jonathan coe
the fellowship of the ring, jrr tolkien
frjtz
pig mania
waking up and yelling "I WANT MY GIFTS!" at sleeping laurie at 8 am this morning like it was christmas, then wearing all the hella cute nyc stuff with my pjs

save me from tomorrow, save me from tomorrow
so i get what the sun also rises is about: the lost generation and how war changed the values of that generation, shifting meanings of sexuality, masculinity, and meaningful relationships. i haven't been able to shake it out of my head since. hemingway's group of expats in that novel bear a striking resemblance to my friends today, i fear. we rush along, from bar to bar, party to party, city to city, country to country, in a drunken, exhilarated horde. we party to escape the meaninglessness of life, the dull numbness of work, and the mind-boggling insanity of relationships, but we can't even realize this fact because we're too busy being drunk. but what is the reason for our disillusionment with life? we all grew up so privileged, went to school in a good neighborhood, then off to college, studied abroad in our junior year, now working decent jobs. i don't think it's a bad thing, really, this stumbling along without catching our breath to stare down our sad state. but it begs the question: just what are we running from?

high school friends + new friends + laurie's friends + rum and cokes + 1 liquid cocaine
add sexual tension (mostly involving ali), and stir
= a great christmas night!
MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Pedro Romero had the greatness. He loved bull-fighting, and I think he loved the bulls, and I think he loved Brett. Everything of which he could control the locality he did in front of her all that afternoon. Never once did he look up. He made it stronger that way, and did it for himself, too, as well as for her. Because he did not look up to ask if it pleased he did it all for himself inside, and it strengthened him, and yet he did it for her, too. But he did not do it for her at any loss to himself. He gained by it all through the afternoon.

you think this is easy?
ugh, this is the tough part--too many people reading this blog so i feel constricted in what i can discuss. ugh.

so, goddamnit, i think about you. and i hate it.

it's not easy for me. it's not easy to lie in bed alone each night. it's not easy to admit that i get lonely every now and then. it's not easy to think about all the good times we had. it's not easy to drink cold coffee mixed with rain and teardrops.

i really hate all this sentimental crap, but i can't help it. too much drinking for a monday night. i love my friends!

ten moments
1. "thanks for buying me a drink."
"yeah, well you let me grab your ass, so i thought i might as well." (i'm still not sure if this was just a joke)
2. "ali's a hooker!"
3. the "whoo" circle (so annoying!)
4. "who's that girl he's dancing with who is hella less cute than you?" (from more than one person. hella messed, but also you know.)
5. christine and scott's dance-off
6.a few different people: "are you having fun?"
me: "no, not really."
7. "so when is braz going to take his shirt off?"
8. kristin: "what are we going to do now?"
me: "eat a whole lot of sausage!"
9. "what the fuck--is this a malibu and pineapple????"
10. being beaten by an over-6-foot-tall korean man in the street and no one intervening

thanks to everyone who came out and shook it like a polaroid, extra special thanks to those who bought me drinks or bore gifts, super spesh thanks to a sickly vic and his girlfriend who stopped by (and paid cover) for just a minute to drop off a totally unnecessary (but very much appreciated) present. apologies to ali for the hooker thing. big dis to the dj for playing a wack-ass mix of "in da club," the only song i really wanted to hear last night.

sadly, LOTR was NOT ROTL (Return of the Legolas). in fact, he had the smallest part in this one out of all three. oh well. i guess it was still pretty good.


ha! just kidding, it was really good. go see it. it's a lot funnier than any of the other ones, but i'm not sure how intentional that is. some parts are just hella overacted. plus, they all die in the end, and how heartwarming is that? oooo spoiler!!! :P haha.

more evidence that my mom can't handle caffeine and that my sister is an idiot
so my sister calls me today and says "dad thinks i'm an idiot."
me: "why?"
frootz: "he asked me this morning if i knew who saddam hussein was. when i said yeah, he was like, 'oh. well they caught him today.'"

tonight my mom is totally hyper after eating coffee crunch cake, and she's cleaning out her purse.
mom: "why do i have all these pens that aren't mine?"
me: "um, cuz you're a thief?"
mom: "no, no, i was a thief, was a thief."

last thing. conversation between me and i love the jokester strikes back today:
freesia, after helping tom with his med school app.: "damn, i better be getting some tiffany's out of this." *dirty look from lisa* "kidding! kidding!"
me: "it's girls like you that make me wonder why i'm a lesbian."

damn you, vile sickness!
after weeks of wet pants cuffs and frozen fingers, i've finally caught a cold. luckily the campaign is over, but i hope i recover by next weekend or else i will be quite a miserable sight. but alcohol kills germs, right? :P old joke.

i spent the day with my mom and aunt at hillsdale, my secret shopping mall goldmine. i always find stuff there i can't find anywhere else. two things struck me as i fought off old grannies and annoying mallrats (NOTE: this is going to be an uncharacteristically [ha] shallow and more-stylish-than-thou rant, but what do you expect, i was at a mall, for chrissakes):
1) i don't understand what possesses people to firstly buy and subsequently wear certain items of clothing that they believe to be trendy to the mall. for example, jeans with hella straps on them. or those satin pants that are cinched at the bottoms. what goes through the minds of these people as they decide whether to purchase these things? i just don't understand. i'm all for taking fashion risks, but there are limits of taste! i mean, i see these things on sale at lots of stores, but i never thought anyone actually bought them, god forbid. (NOTE: i'm sure there are some of you out there who are going to say, "but, lisa, you've made some rather atrocious fashion mistakes, too -- camoflage capris? the fake hair? the pleather phase? that scarf that you wore as a top? that hawaiian skirt that you swore got shorter each time you wore it? and those crocodile stiletto boots that you couldn't walk in, so you made billy and bruce carry you instead, and had tommie hold them for you and someone accused him of stealing them?" to you, i say: "play 'wheels on the bus,' and get out of my face!....and the scarf top was hella cute!")
2) there were tons of couples at the mall today. TONS. how do these (totally unfashionable, i might add) people get together? how? HOW?! you ever stare at couples and think, how does she have a boyfriend and I don't? probably not, since you're probably not as spiteful or petty as i am. or you haven't admitted it to yourself yet. these are the things i think about when i go to the mall. that, and where's the claire's?

obviously, being sick has put me in quite a mood. back to family guy.

best chow fun in san francisco: north hollywood cafe, on pacific below grant, in chinatown. thank me later.

so tomorrow is the big day. i will be very sad if matt doesn't win, but i know that this is just the beginning. there were some tremendous coalitions formed because of this campaign, and either way, it is a major sign that a shift is happening in the city. the people are sick and tired of bullshit corrupt politicians who fuck over our beautiful city by building more goddamn lofts to attract the white yuppies; who support police who beat up innocent residents and then cover it up; who want to take money away from the most disenfranchised sector of the population, the homeless, and who actually want to throw them in jail because, you know, their lives aren't hard enough already; who make backroom deals to protect their interests and their money; who want to put more police in our schools because we need SF high schools to become even MORE of a police state. god, i'm so sick of all of it sometimes, and it makes me actually want to cry to see what this city, my city has become.

there are two huge issues at work in this mayor's race that neither candidate wants to talk about directly, the elephants in the room that no one wants to mention. those two issues are race and class, of course. the city is ground-zero for racial issues, which is what issues like homelessness, affordable housing, education, minimum wage, and police brutality are. these issues are inherently racial in nature, although no one wants to say "race" in front of a camera or on a mailer. this election is also the sign of the beginning of an era of class warfare in the city--the rich are for newsom, the working class are for gonzalez. it's that simple. the rich like that newsom will protect their money, since he has money. he's the supervisor for the richest district in the city--district 2, pacific heights (aka "specific whites"), north beach, sea cliff, marina. that district makes me sick. these are no ordinary white people--these are WHITE PEOPLE, with beamers, coiffed hair, white cashmere, range rovers, louis vuitton bags, with their fucking bougie union street boutiques, and starbucks. these people are not my san francisco. these people are about as far away from my san francisco as you can get. we, the people of The City, only tolerate these yuppie scum because we have to. they remind us that there is a whole other world outside of our wonderful little utopia, a world that hates us as much as we hate them, and tolerates us only to park their cars, clean their houses, watch their children, empty their trashcans.

the matt gonzalez campaign was a revolt against this group, which has controlled san francisco for way too long. the workers for matt are old and young, gay and straight, black, latino, asian, artists, workers. they are san francisco. they stand alone on intersections in isolated parts of the city in the pouring rain at dusk, with a sign on a stick and a poncho. they bike through the streets with a handwritten cardboard sign on their back that reads "ask me about matt gonzalez for mayor!" they hold 30 parties in 30 days to raise money for matt, since newsom has outspent them ten-to-one (yet gonzalez still leads by two points in the polls). they walk through the streets of the most dangerous districts in the city, visatacion valley and bayview/hunter's point, just two young asian american females, armed only with a clipboard of names and a totebag of flyers, going door to door and educating chinese and pilipino voters on why they, the hardworking, low-income asian americans, should vote for him. they do it for free, some of them, and some of them do it without even the campaign HQ knowing about it. this is a real grassroots movement the likes of which san francisco has not seen in years.

the change is coming--there's nothing anyone can do to stop it. you can feel it vibrating through the seven hills of san francisco, through the streets. you're either in or you're out. it starts here, it starts now. whether or not matt wins is not extremely significant. the working class of san francisco--along with every other person who loves this, the greatest city in the world--are going to take their city back, if nothing else. fuck bush, fuck arnold, fuck newsom. tell your sister, tell your brother, tell your mom and dad, tell any family you have in san francisco. get them to the polls. vote matt gonzalez tomorrow and vote for change in san francisco.

I though of that old joke, y'know, the, this, this guy goes to a psychiatrist and says, "Doc, uh, my brother's crazy. He thinks he's a chicken." And, uh, the doctor says, "Well, why don't you turn him in?" And the guy says, "I would, but I need the eggs." Well, I guess that's pretty much how I feel about relationships. Y'know, they're totally irrational and crazy and absurd and, but, uh, I guess we keep going through it because, uh, most of us need the eggs.--annie hall

a long december
three things:
1) please everyone save saturday december 20th for me. i'm thinking of doing some sort of bar-with-music fete in sf. more info and evite to come. my birthday always falls at the shittiest time--friends from school are back in socal and friends from home are not yet back from socal, it's the week before xmas so everyone's stressed, hella people aren't 21 yet, friends from cal don't want to go to sf, and friends from sf don't want to go to berkeley, not to mention all that east coast-west coast, 50 cent-ja rule, tupac-biggie drama. damn. so mah fahn. you must MUST come out and parlay if you're anywhere in the bay, it'll be fun, i personally guarantee excitement... ;)

2) i have no game.

3) freesia: "my bed is so far from the wall i feel like it's gonna just fly off somewhere."
me: "to the island of naboo?"
(anyone besides jokester who can name that reference gets hella props!)

more madness from home
me, to my mom, as my dad walks by: "you and dad are twins! you guys are wearing the same fleece! it's the exact same thing, but in different colors! how cute..."
laurie, looking at me from the floor, totally deadpan: "me too."
me, looking at her and jumping back: "AH! OH MY GOD!"
laurie: "you should put one on, too. join the club."

i live in a house of fleece insanity.

snippet of conversation from the household:
laurie (holding up a cup used for urine tests) to my mom: "you want to keep this?"
mom: "yes."
lisa: "what's that?"
mom: "a urine cup."
lisa: "for what??"
mom: "urine."
mom: "such a silly question."

fin.

i wish i could send this to every man and woman i know, but i guess this will have to do.

Can men become attracted to women who aren't their physical ideal?

*this works for women and their male physical ideal as well

excerpt:
I don't think it's about waiting for him to superimpose his mental picture of the cheerleader over your face. You have to break through his billboard and wake him up. There is a place where men and women meet that is so deep there are no billboards anymore, there is just the desert sky and a scary howling that you're not even sure is coming from you or him, it's so animal.

Yes, many men get hard over skinny hips and big tits. Big deal.

What you're after is the ideal, where physical love becomes this transcendent thing, where a man is really loving the woman. Yes, her body, but not just her body, in her body but not just in her body, the woman but not just the woman -- the hair, the eyes, the sweat, the fold of flesh, the memories, the voice, the idea of her, the person she is, the things they've done, the wounds they've given, the food they've eaten, the walks they've taken, like falling to their deaths the whole thing flashes before them, and that's the ultimate thing, that's where in that moment it would be so silly for him to think, gee, I wish she weighed 3 pounds less, I wish I could see her hipbones, I wish her ribs were showing, that would really turn me on. How absurd for a man in love, so enraptured with this woman that loving her is the same as loving his own life. Think how odd that would be. But then the rush always wears off and he thinks I have to pay the parking meter or whatever did happen to that one blue sock I used to like so much ... but that's after the rush wears off. Your body didn't prevent you from getting to that precious few moments near the sun.

How you get there, where you are lost to the world with your soul mate, where you aren't even one person anymore exactly, but just this exploded citizen of the sun, this bell set ringing by her blow, her tap, her fist, her knock, when you're just this ancient eternal force of life with no need even for an ego, who needs an ego when you're already eternal, you've kicked off the shoes, you're a barefoot corpse laughing at the autopsy, you're there, you've arrived in your sweetie's arms and that's where you're staying even when they wheel you back into your dark little chamber. Where am I going with this? What am I saying? I'm saying that the mystery of attraction lies not in a visit to the Size 5-7-9 Shop. There's something overwhelming out there and it's not about your measurements. It's waiting for you. He might have it in his house, who knows? It might be lying in his heart just waiting for you. It might be hidden in an ironic laugh and a plate of spaghetti. There might be a ring involved. There might be a ceremony with lots of white. Or there might be a drunken misunderstanding, a walk through a storm, tears washing down your face with the rain. But it's not about the length of your femur and your percentage of body fat. It's about this thing that happens between people when they lose themselves.

Life is short. Maybe he's the one. Get some courage. Shake him up. If he likes you and he's not doing anything about it, maybe he's sleepwalking. Take his book away and see if he wakes up. Put a plate of food in front of him and see if he eats. Roll him over and scratch his belly. Find out what gives.

i've been looking especially bad these past few days--tired, ragged, dark circles, pallid, just not cute all in all. matt, what are you doing to me? i've cut my coffee habit down to one a day, and i'm sleeping a decent amount. nutrition is pretty good, too, and i'm not smoking anymore. so what the fuck?? maybe i'm vicariously experiencing finals through my friends. or, even scarier, maybe after years and years of finals, my body has actually programmed itself to be stressed at this time of the year. or maybe it's just the rain and cold and blah.

two apps due in two weeks = not so fun, and i have to write a new statement of purpose for berkeley. try fitting why you want to go to grad school in 500 words. or, try fit "career goals" in three lines: I want to write for an alternative weekly for a few years, then work in the nonprofit sector in the areas of civil rights, community development, or women's issues before pursuing a Masters or PhD in Ethnic Studies. Then, I'd like to travel for research on my nonfiction book about Asian diaspora in Western Europe, and have a torrid international affair with a devastatingly handsome cosmopolitan jetsetter artist, which will be fodder for my novel. We would reinvigorate the expatriate artists/writer colonies in Europe and/or Asia and redefine the style and culture of our time. I would then return to the States and write the long-awaited screenplay with Chrissy and Freesia. With our fame and money, we would finally start our own magazine in New York City, which we would promote in the press by playing up our mixed racial heritages. I would live in the Village with my filmmaker boyfriend who will direct my screenplay. I would like to retire in San Francisco with my witty intellectual professor significant other and have the journalism room, hell, why not an entire wing of Lowell named in my honor."

GRoOVe roBber (7:00 PM): ok I know I'm a dork, but you gotta appreciate this achievement:
GRoOVe roBber (7:01 PM): I've cleaned my inbox out after like 6-7 months
GRoOVe roBber (7:01 PM): and now I only have FIVE messages in my inbox!
GRoOVe roBber (7:01 PM): F I V E !
GRoOVe roBber (7:02 PM): ok, relatively clean compared to you junk hoarders
lisa n da sky (7:02 PM): you're a hoar.
GRoOVe roBber (7:02 PM): but the last few months i've been at like 70-80 messages
lisa n da sky (7:02 PM): it's not like whoever has the cleanest inbox wins the race
GRoOVe roBber (7:02 PM): and it bothered the fuck outta me!
lisa n da sky (7:02 PM): yeah you're anal like that
GRoOVe roBber (7:03 PM): YEESSSSS IT ISSSS!!!
GRoOVe roBber (7:03 PM): yeah, yeah.
lisa n da sky (7:03 PM): it's not like whoever has the least amount of emails in their inbox when they die gets a better place in heaven
lisa n da sky (7:03 PM): IT'S NOT
GRoOVe roBber (7:03 PM): that's what jesus told me.
lisa n da sky (7:03 PM): how many emails did he have in his inbox when he died?
GRoOVe roBber (7:03 PM): cleanliness is next to godliness...y'know- like jesus.
GRoOVe roBber (7:04 PM): jesus had mad PEN1S ENL*RGEMENT e-mails he never got to trash.
GRoOVe roBber (7:05 PM): that's the first thing he'll take care of after his resurrection and stuff.
lisa n da sky (7:05 PM): sam, you know you should save some of those
lisa n da sky (7:05 PM): maybe look into it
lisa n da sky (7:05 PM): OOOOOOOOOOO
GRoOVe roBber (7:05 PM): OOOHHH!!!

gems from the hardboiled story editor applications
these are all actual responses:

3. in your opinion, what is the most important issue relevant to the asian pacific american community?
-not enough hardboiled being read on campus
-asian ghetto ( i prefer "ethnic encleave" ) not providing a wide variety. There's like 4 Thai resturants within a block. And students get confused with Yokonama Station and fake Japanese resturant next door.
-there's not a consistency with how bobas are made.
-white [racist] people.

4. what experiences in the past do you think would qualify you for this position?
-i am an asian american
-i have issues
-i drink

5. what other activities and/or organizations (community, student, etc.) are you involved in and will you be holding any leadership positions? will you have enough time for hb?
-well i'm done with the fraternity crap. I guess i could break up with my gf. but she's not really very time consuming. Having a gf is like taking a 5 unit class with a discussion period afterwards. and I kinda like her. and besides, she's white so i can garner her thoughts and let the APAs know what her people think of my people. (poor susie!!)

2. yeah, so then what exactly is "asian pacific american" identity?
There is no APA identity, stereotypes are what contribute to this idea of an "APA" identity. You might expect me to say something like community, or pride, but we must realize there are different APAs just as there are different people. Also if this is some sort of trick question attempting to get me into a self-stereotype you didn't get me.

9. which other publications do you read (school pubs, magazines,
newspapers, etc.)
I read the sports section of the Daily Cal and do the crossword puzzle