Tuesday, June 26, 2007

i believe you



today at work i saw something weird in the bathroom. when i walked into my stall, there was a little altar of Splenda packets in front of the toilet. They were arranged with care and from my vantage point of 5’ 4” above ground (in addition to the fact that I never wear my glasses even tho i really should), they looked like soft canary feathers against the gray tile.

I thought to myself, "well, that's strange. Why would anyone ever bring 6 packets of Splenda into the bathroom and then leave them there?"

I came to the conclusion that a lot of things seem weird when you don't have all the information. And then when you do have all the information, you think, “Of course! How could I have thought it to be any other way? Silly me.

My mom and I used to go shopping almost every weekend when I was in high school. Not to buy, just to browse is what we would say. Mom and I would walk around Fashion Valley, an amazing outdoor mall, and just "catch up”, often hand in hand. I remember one time, in front of Wet Seal, there was a man bent over a bunch of wires working away. A “work man" was what my mother called him. Other people would probably call him an "electrician." But I knew exactly who she was talking about when my mom whispered to me, “Uh muh nah! Look at what that work man is wearing” because this work man had on the most curious outfit. He had a very tiny white wife beater that stopped right under his pectoral muscles. This wife beater was paired with extraordinarily low jeans. His entire midriff was exposed and while that is not THAT strange in and of itself, what WAS strange was the fact that his midsection was a perfectly smooth, mottled tan, and completely devoid of hair. It was the hairless thing that seemed particularly odd given the fact that the work man had hair pouring out of every other visible nook and cranny. And i mean every. We literally stopped in our tracks.

Then the work man did the most peculiar thing. He took his entire midriff OFF. Well, okay fine. He didn't really take his midriff off. He was wearing a super wide, super tan, super hairless work belt. And he took THAT off. But the point is, well, we felt bad for jumping to conclusions before we knew the whole story. We should have given him the benefit of the doubt.

This takes me back to senior year at Wellesley College to a time when I hope someone gave me the benefit of the doubt. I lived on the top floor of Claflin Hall, one of the prettiest, most storybook dorms on campus. And to get to my room, one had to take a separate set of stairs up to the turrets.

In college, i had a friend who was very soft spoken. Let’s call her Tootsie. Tho Tootsie was quiet, she expressed all of her pent up aggression through activities that required force. Any kind of force whatsoever. What I mean by this is that she would SLAM doors shut. She would CRASH her books on the library table. She would CRACK every pencil she used. Tootsie stomped up my stairs with the grace of a hundred and one pachyderms. And, just in case there was any confusion, that’s not graceful at all.

It’s 9 am on a Sunday and I hear her heavy footsteps. Damn her. I'm going to teach her a lesson. I jump out of bed, dizzy/sleepy/drunk and stick my left foot in a shower slipper and the right foot in the high heels I wore the night before. I wrap a towel around my body and wobble through the door and scream BOOOOOOO!!!!!

It was a work man, not Tootsie, on the other side. Yup, there was his tan leather belt! The poor guy fell against the wall in surprise and screamed. I can hear his scream even now as I type. I really did think he was going to cry.

I felt so bad.

I jumped back into bed and could only hope that he would give me the benefit of the doubt. Just like I'm going to give the person who brought six packets of Splenda into the bathroom stall and left them there. There must be a reason that makes sense.

everybody toots...sometimes

03:13PM bonita: omg
03:13PM bonita: omg
03:13PM irenejkim77: what
03:13PM irenejkim77: ?
03:13PM irenejkim77: are you ok?? what?
03:13PM bonita: just made the loudest noise
03:13PM bonita: somebody HAD to have noticed
03:14PM irenejkim77: like...what kind of noise?
03:14PM irenejkim77: uhhhhh....
03:14PM bonita: THE kind
03:14PM irenejkim77: HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
03:14PM irenejkim77: you are HILARIOUS!!!
03:14PM irenejkim77: calm down calm down
03:14PM bonita: I am giggling like crazy
03:14PM irenejkim77: no one will notice.
03:14PM irenejkim77: shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
03:14PM irenejkim77: shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh quiet. stop.
03:14PM bonita: x and y aren't here
03:14PM irenejkim77: thank GOD!
03:14PM irenejkim77: hahahaha. hahahahaha!
03:14PM bonita: but the guy on the other side of my desk is
03:14PM irenejkim77: don't worry.
03:14PM bonita: HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAa
03:14PM irenejkim77: you have to hahahahahahahahaha I can't hahahahahahaa
03:15PM irenejkim77: ok.
03:15PM irenejkim77: calm down.
03:15PM bonita: SO LOUD
03:15PM irenejkim77: no one will remember.
03:15PM irenejkim77: hahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
03:15PM bonita: ok
03:15PM irenejkim77: that's REALLY funny.
03:15PM bonita: am bright red, trying not to laugh is making me hyper-ventilate
03:15PM irenejkim77: dude. chill. take a deep breath.
03:15PM irenejkim77: and go to the bathroom.
03:15PM bonita: NOOO
03:15PM bonita: then he'll think I have a problem
03:15PM bonita: haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
03:16PM irenejkim77: haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
03:16PM bonita: if you blog this, can you pls change my name to bonita?

Saturday, June 23, 2007

sweet dream

last night
i dreamt of you
and we
were on a hill
and we
were just talking
(as if)
we were best friends

Thursday, June 21, 2007

all i wanted was a churro




When I was maybe 16 yrs old or so, I worked at SeaWorld in San Diego for one summer. I drove my little red Honda Civic to work. From where I grew up, (Bonita, CA) it was about a 35 minute drive. It was actually my brother's Honda, but he got the Jeep Cherokee when he went to college. So I was left with the little Honda which was trusty and looked like a cinnamon tic tac.

I didn't work feeding the dolphins or cleaning fish tanks, so in a way, I was a SeaWorld impostor. I worked at a kiosk as a poster roller. Let me clarify…you know those Asian men who sit on the sidewalk of Times Square and paint a word (usually your name) using colorful flowers/dolphins/trees instead of letters? E.g., the "I" in IRENE would be a palm tree. The "R" would be a curved porpoise. The "E" would be a hula dancer with a really bad goiter... you get the picture. And no, silly! I didn't paint the names! I was the authentic Asian girl who rolled up the scrolls and put them in the tube. Day after day. Hour after hour. I nearly drowned myself in Shamu's piss pool out of sheer boredom.

So when I completed my last day of work ever at SeaWorld, you can imagine my joy! I skipped out of there like a little girl, my long ponytail swinging behind me. On the way to the employees’ parking lot, I thought to myself, "You know what, Irene? Why not treat yourself to a delicious Mexican donut dusted with cinnamon sugar, also known as a 'churro'?” (roll the ‘r’, please, in churrrrrrro). It was a fine idea, indeed.

I paid for the goods and was poised to take a bite when someone knocked me over the head with her purse. BAM! I staggered to my right. I was furious and embarrassed. Do I pretend it never happened? Do I stagger to the left, finish off with a twirl and start a little dance? Before I even had a chance to figure it all out, the same crazy Coo-Coo-Head hit me again over the head again, this time pitching me forward several steps. By this time, a small crowed had gathered around me. Did you see that? Do we help her? That was so funny! I was the circus freak! I was the car wreck! And I was still clueless as to what was going on!

I decided the best way to handle this was to pretend nothing had happened. The person who was shoving me ran away too quickly for me to tackle her anyway. I re-poised myself to take a bite out of my churro when, as if I had suddenly acquired Tourette Syndrome*, my arm shot straight up in the air. I looked up. And it was a strange moment for me. Initial confusion was chased away by a shock of total clarity.

I was under attack by two monstrous seagulls. MONSTROUS. One of them had my SeaWorld windbreaker cuff in its mouth. And the other one was repeatedly flapping me on the head with its wing. My "fight or flight" response was called into action and I fought them valiently for my hard earned churro. To tell you the truth, I really wanted to JUST GIVE UP! But a latent "Rocky Balboa" surged in me and it would not let go of the damn donut.

Eventually, a massive shit squirt dangerously close to the eye left me defeated. And all I was left with was a small 3 inch length of churro. Smushed, greasy, inedible. I was sad. Only then did people try to help me! But it was too late. I brushed them off brusquely and ran to my little red tic tac Honda.

As I drove home, I came out of my shock and I started to cry. I was crying because my knees were skinned and I had poop in my hair. I was crying because I had repeatedly looked into the butt hole of a seagull. I was crying because my churro had gone to wrongful owners. I walked in through the garage door that led into my house. My mom was cooking dinner. When she saw me, she dropped the pan she was holding and said, "UH MUH NAH!" (translation - oh my goodness!).

Poor Mommy. She must have thought I had gotten jumped or even worse. I cried and cried as she held me and smushed the bird poop all over her shirt. Something only a mother will do.

I can actually laugh about this incident today. It's really funny, in all honesty. But churros make me quiver with fear. And seagulls? Forgetaboutit.

*I know it’s really un-PC to talk about Tourette Syndrome so glibly. I apologize to anyone I have offended. Did you know: One of the less common possible symptoms of Tourettes (yet the most recognizable) is Coprolalia (outburst of obscenities and curse words). Coprolalia is actually very uncommon in Tourette Syndrome and only effects as low as 5% to 15% of Touretter’s. Learn something new every day.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

i'm pro female and all, but...

irenejkim77: oooh. THAT makes total sense. ok.
irenejkim77: go tit.
irenejkim77: hahahahah!
irenejkim77: gooooooooooo tit!
irenejkim77: hilarious.
irenejkim77: GOT it. (is obviously what I meant)
irenejkim77: I used to be a cheerleader, but even that is a little excessive for me.

Sunday, June 17, 2007

you! don't bring me flowers anymore...

i don't like flowers. i don't like receiving flowers as gifts. i don't like giving flowers as gifts. similar to my dislike of soup spoons (blog: "slow day at work" 5.31.07), i can logically defend this prejudice. (let me take this moment to tell my readers the only actual phobia is the one i have of fr*gs. i don’t even like to see that word in print. they creep me out. as do pickles since they resemble fr*gs).

cut flowers are beings en route to death. i hate to be so macabre, but it’s true. their misleading vibrancy is masking the fact that their roots have literally been cut and their days are quite numbered. when i see a bouquet of flowers, i cannot help but think that in a few days, those pretty, quasi living di/monocotyledons (dude, remember that from 5th grade science?) will be face down, feet up in my trash can.

so, AS IF i needed another reason to deeply, deeply resent flowers, something terrible happened to me yesterday. i even took a picture of it but i think i forgot to save it because i now i can't find it on my phone.

the flowers which were pushed on me by the clean up crew at a wedding i attended last week, spawned a caterpillar. when i saw this larvae with it’s undulating and segmented body just hanging out in my living room, i felt like i was being punk’d. i was praying that ashton kutcher was hiding in my bedroom along with my brother, best friend, and mom. please, ashton, tell me this is not real. i’m waiting for you to holler “surprise! it’s not a real caterpillar! it’s a GUMMY caterpillar! hahahahahaha!”

i am not kidding when i say that my gag reflex kicked in. and after my mini gag session, i did a really peculiar thing: i started jumping up and down, shook my head, shot my hands straight up into the air, all the while started screaming "ahhhhhhh!". i think the clinical term for this sudden and violent outburst would be “to engage in a freak out.”

i did what any convulsing woman would do…i steadied my twitching hand long enough to knock on my neighbors door and when he answered, i managed to squeak out, “caterpillar, help me…please, i *insert freak out dance here* can’t do it. caterpillar. flowers. *insert gag reflex*”

i honestly cannot believe that he followed me into my apartment. for all he knew, i was a crazy psychopath with a sadist tendencies. but he did and i’ll never forget the image of the tightly coiled caterpillar being flushed down the toilet. i know it’s not rational, but now when i go to the bathroom, i feel like the caterpillar will exact it’s revenge on my bum one day.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

the great french cover up

11:53AM ikim3: i have a fashion question.
11:53AM jparks1: yes
11:54AM ikim3: if i am wearing a black dress with red lipstick, is red (short) nails overkill?
11:54AM ikim3: or should i get a french manicure?
11:54AM jparks1: i hate french manicures
11:54AM ikim3: really? why?
11:55AM jparks1: short red nails is fine
11:55AM ikim3: ok. thank you.
11:55AM ikim3: why do you hate french mans?
11:56AM jparks1: french mans are tacky
11:56AM jparks1: and I especially hate it on toes
11:59AM ikim3: ew.
12:00PM ikim3: the problem i have with french manicures is that it's covering up dirt.
12:00PM ikim3: which is never a good idea.
12:01PM ikim3: ppl with french manicures look like they have nice white nails when in fact, lots of dirt could be stuck under there.
12:01PM ikim3: it's misleading. the french. they do that with perfume, too.
12:01PM ikim3: covering up B.O.
12:01PM jparks1: yep
12:01PM jparks1: its like a cover up
12:01PM ikim3: the great french cover up.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

introducing trouble




let’s go back to 381 wagon wheel way. the most salient memories i have of those years are of the glorious san diego summers and of playing with my beautiful best friend erin cory who lived across the street. when erin was about 6 (and I was about 9) she procured two lop eared rabbits named heartcakes and cocoa. heartcakes and cocoa made my lips and eyes and ears itch. tho it was painfully obvious, i didn’t want to admit that i was allergic to rabbits. (side note, i am also allergic to potatoes, tomatoes, corn, soy, and peanuts. and anything else that produces dander). so what i would do was put my brother’s striped tube socks over my arms like long gloves and touch the rabbits lovingly through the hole in their wire cage. it didn’t do jack shit, but I think allergies are 50% psychosomatic anyway.

i was a little prankster. i was that kid who jumped out from behind doors, fell and cried only to yell “just kidding! when help arrived”. i even faked running away from home when i was really just hiding in the back of my mom’s car while she frantically drove around looking for me. can you believe it? i thought it was funny at the time…if only my 7 year old brain could have understood the depth of panic my mother felt, i would take it back and never do it again. all in all, i was just a really *happy* little girl.

erin and i played tricks together. one of our favorites was the peanut butter trick which we did but once. the set up was this: get some chunky peanut butter and shape it into a long piece of turd. then put the fake turd on erin’s doorstep. borrow a dog if you don’t have one yourself ( we used the lucas’ little dachshund…let’s call him “ziggy” because i can’t recall his name right now). ring the doorbell and wait. what unfolds was seriously hysterical. for us, at least.

we could see sharon (erin’s mom) come up the stairs to answer the front door through the white shutters. sharon was the world’s most perfect mother. gorgeous, loving, huggy, perfumy. it’s not surprising that erin is exactly the same way. sharon was my “i’m going to run away and live with sharon” sharon. sharon was the epitome of what i thought an american family should be like (and what i myopically thought the kim family was not.) sharon was not just another lovely person, she was an aspiration. i loved her penchant for hunter green. i loved her perfectly golden pancakes topped with squeezable butter. i loved the way she cut my food into tiny pieces of mush and I just loved sharon.

as sharon opened the door, my transformation into an oscar worthy actress began. “look sharon! ziggy did an accident!” i would glare accusingly at dear little ziggy who was probably vigorously licking his anus. sharon’s eyes would catch the peanut butter turd innocently lying on the grey concrete and before she could do or say anything, i would say, “but don’t worry, i’ll take care of everything. “ i picked up the peanut butter turd and jammed the whole thing into my mouth.

what happens after that is unclear. i can only imagine peals of laugher mixed in with screams of horror mixed in with an attempted heimlich maneuver mixed in with one wriggly irene running home.

it’s really ironic that i developed an allergy to peanuts as an adult. that means I can never play that trick on you.

"not sure what to say" (real item from www.vineyardvines.com, the WASP-iest, mass label out there)



From: Ali, Wajahat
Sent: Tuesday, June 12, 2007 3:58 PM
To: Mascarenhas, Mark A; Kim, Irene (EQ - New York)
Subject: Not sure what to say...

http://www.vineyardvines.com/index.cfm/fuseaction/products.detail/categoryID/4a6fd419-651c-4c88-a341-31f39f1f6129/productID/49493234-b52c-4db3-8ba6-be5400134249/


Wajahat


-----Original Message-----
From: Sinha, Sylvana [mailto:Sylvana.Sinha@xxxx.com]
Sent: Tuesday, June 12, 2007 4:23 PM
To: Kim, Irene (EQ - New York); tanyaxxx@xxx.com
Subject: RE: Not sure what to say...


I can't believe they are $98!

Monday, June 11, 2007

Estado Libre Asociado de Puerto Rico

This weekend I had to go to Saks Fifth Avenue to return a dress I bought during one of my frenzied retail therapy sessions. Honestly, even I am shocked and awed at the unrestrained and voracious nature of my spending. Just to put it into perspective, I spent more than 3,000 USD in 1 hour. WTF? Who do I think I am? Princess Haewon of Korea? (she's real - and I am obsessed with her: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haewon,_Princess_of_Korea). So, to make wrong things right, I sheepishly went from store to store returning all that I didn't REALLY need. Which was pretty much everything, including the ivory alpaca cape from Barney's.
I forgot that the Puerto Rican Parade was running right up 5th Avenue on Saturday. But for once, I had time on my hands so I didn't mind waiting in line as the police managed the flow of non Puerto Rican Parade revelers across 5th Ave. The Po-Po let us trickle through bit by bit by moving the metal barricades a few inches and then closing it off abruptly, without warning, and with great mirth. We were like a human titration across 5th Ave - a very delicate balance had to be maintained.


Some observations:

1) Ricky Martin has a foundation. That's Ricky's bom bom in the picture.


2) Long nails hurt when they poke you in the chest. See, I wanted to take a snapshot of the pretty Puerto Rican girls. This picture was taken right after I yelled "LOOK UP THERE!" so that I could take the picture without arousing much suspicion. The one in the middle turned to me and said, "what are YOU (poke) looking at?"


3) The way out of a situation like the one I detail above, you only have to do one thing: raise your hands and yell "BORIIIIIQUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" (http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=boriqua) and...

4) ...you are INSTANTLY inducted into the Puerto Rican circle of love, regardless of race, gender, or the fact that the entire time you are listening to Pete Yorn wailing about something on your iPod. Whatever it was, it was quite possibly the most un Puerto Rican song possible.

(And by "un" I mean "anti/opposite of/contrary to", not "un" the Spanish word for "one/a"...i know this seems nit-picky, but i have a co-worker named "se" and everytime someone would say "yo, se!" i thought they were saying "i know" in Spanish. Being multi-lingual can cause much confusion.

Saturday, June 9, 2007

a story by st kim

http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=151806215







Friday, June 8, 2007

*this* bothers me

I get up really early to go to work. I am usually on the train platform by 6:10 am bc I refuse to let myself get stuck in the golden handcuffs and take a taxi to work. Which is what everyone else on my trading desk does. In any case, it only saves me 20 minutes of sleep. Which begs the question, would you pay 10 dollars for an extra 20 minutes of sleep? Which over the course of the year is 2400 dollars which is really 4800 pre tax. So the REAL question is, would you pay almost 5000 to sleep an extra 20 minutes a work day? It's a personal decision, but for me, the answer is, NO.

Anyway, I digress. Sometimes I walk out my door and step over drunk hobos or locked out boyfriends curled up like guinea pigs in my lobby vestibule (and I'm being generous by calling it a lobby). Sometimes, as a resident of Christopher Street, I will run into a gaggle of barefooted trannies coming back from a big night out. As I wiggle myself between them, I think "this is what salmon feels like when they have to swim upstream to do whatever they do upstream". The trannies know me at this point and they all pretend to touch my hair and coo, "oooooh…pretty business lady!".

None of that bothers me.

What DOES bother me is particular short man in a super tacky leather/pleather/naugahyde jacket who is also at the platform every morning. He will walk *this close* to me and say, "hey baby" in a very salacious way that makes my skin crawl. He makes a point to sit across from me every morning. The one time I ran out of a subway car to avoid being in the same one as him, I missed the train. I was so mad! Once I am on the train, however, I am usually on my blackberry or listening to my ipod or reading my book or paper. So over time, he has become a non entity. Kind of like a hooker's plantar's warts. In the grand scheme of things, it's the least of her worries.

This morning, I hit a wall. I saw him coming out of the corner of my eye and I just DID NOT WANT TO DEAL WITH THE SHORT MAN. I turned to him and said, "It would be awesome if you could PLEASE F*CK OFF." but I said it really sweetly bc who needs that kind of agression at 6:10 in the morning?

We sat in different cars this morning.

this is the way we think

10:11AM jparks1: I just threw up at Au Bon Pain
10:11AM ikim3: OMG.
10:11AM jparks1: so hungover
10:11AM ikim3: oh.
10:11AM ikim3: i was just about to call you bc
10:11AM ikim3: i thought you were preggers
10:11AM ikim3: WHEW!

Thursday, June 7, 2007

i wish


i could type without making mistakes. i love the sound of "tippity tappity tip tip tap".
the sound of typing uninterrupted by "BONK BONK BONK" which is the sound the backspace button makes on my computer.

(look. it's my initals. ijk!)

Wednesday, June 6, 2007

The Anatomy of a Nose


I don't like carrots. I find that carrots, more than any other food, have a way of sneaking into your nasal cavity. The result is an awful, tight, "I've got a booger in my nose yet not REALLY in my nose" kind of feeling. Carrots are especially dangerous bc they don't mush up as you chew them. Instead, the pieces just get smaller and smaller. But still stay separate. As the itty bitty carrot pieces multiply, so do your chances of swallowing the wrong way and getting one tiny piece lodged into your nasal cavity. Tho the size of a pencil tip, that carrot piece will feel like you've got the Rock of Gibraltar up your nose.

When I was a kid, my Aunt Betty cooked up spaghetti with meat sauce. It was a real treat bc I basically ate Korean food every night. I slurped it up with gusto with noodles flapping everywhere. I probably had red spaghetti sauce marks all over my face as the soft noodles slapped against my forehead and cheeks. Then I probably left the table to make a fort with my brother and ran around the house until I hit my head against the wall and cried.

Later that night, as my mom was tucking me in, I told her that my throat felt funny. And that I also wanted to pick my nose "but not really." My mom didn't properly diagnose me at all. Instead (bless her) she gave my little nose a squeeze and kissed me goodnight.

I woke up the next day with the same weird feeling. And because I was only 5 yrs old, I just couldn't articulate what I was feeling. Except with "Oma, I want you to pick my nose." (Hahahah, I'm totally cracking myself up, this story is so ridiculous).

So my mom took me to the bathroom…and held down one baby nostril and then the other and told me to blow. AND THEN A LONG NOODLE FLEW OUT OF MY NOSE AND STUCK ON THE BATHROOM MIRROR. Imagine our surprise!!!

So that's how I learned that everything in the head is kind of connnected to each other.

advice from a wise woman...a little self helpy but i still like it

How do I be content with what I have and stop wishing for things I don't have?

"Contentment is relative. Practice gratitude. No kidding. Just make a mental list any time of every little bitty thing you have to be grateful for. It could be a nice man at the deli counter. It could be that the subway came quickly. It could be a little flower bed in bloom, a funny-faced dog, a laughing baby, that you have a job that challenges you and pays you well, that you have a man who loves you more than life itself and has dedicated himself to make you happy. Once you start looking, you can find a million things. Gratitude fills the void you feel. And supposedly, from a place of gratitude, you attract more of what you're grateful for.

Try it. Every single nite as I try to go to sleep, I make my list for the day and fall asleep without anxiety."






...ah f*ck it. who am i kidding...

Monday, June 4, 2007

39 Magazine Street

everything will be alright. everything
will be alright.

i wake up and remember how everything happened and then i wake up...it was supposed to be this way

it skimmed the surface. then it sank one inch down. today it's almost two inches and then it's gone. i'm close
to remembering why it was supposed to be this way

it took me by surprise (did it for you, too?) but I think everything should be ok.

(but don't forget me...at least not right now.)

i mean, i'm no grammar genius, but i'm clearly more grammar geniousy than those ppl at the MTA



even tho i was an english major, i still say things like, "more easier" as in "hey, why don't you just buy slip on shoes? they make things more easier". or "more funner" as in "i have found that bubbles make things more funner."

i blame this on my immigrant parents. don't get me wrong. i love them more than anything on this earth and they have given me everything from my first side zip bongo jeans to my, well, genes.

but. you can understand how one can get confused when a mother routinely says things like, "for ONCE in a BLUE LIFETIME can you PLEASE clean your room?" i also have memories of my mother singing me to sleep. a sweet image, no? uh, no. i would have nightmares to the lyrics: "you are my sunshine, my only sunshine. you make me haPPY! when skies are graaaaay. you'll never know DEAR how much i LOVE YOU, oh pls don't TAKE my sunshine awaaaaaaaaaaayyyy....the other night DEAR when i was sleePING...i thought i held YOU in my aaaaaaaarms. but when i woke DEAR i was mistaken, and so i HUNG myself and i DIED." note - the correct lyrics are "but when i woke DEAR i was mistaken, and so i HUNG my HEAD and i CRIED." big diff. biiiiiiig diff.

but when i was on the subway this morning...i saw a sign that just didn't look right. i may not be a grammar genious, but i would think that ppl at the mta can spot a run on sentance as well as the next guy.

"Litter gets on the tracks and catches fire and that causes train delays that make you late aside from making trains and stations untidy because a little litter goes a long way." ?!?! WTF?