pho. pun. fun.

When I was little, the trip to my doctor's office passed a restaurant called Phuket, which is apparently a gorgeous province in Thailand. Of course, in the English language, this is phuking hilarious. 

I had a terrible song stuck in my head at work one day. To take my mind off of this earworm, I started to think of names for Pho restaurants. (Yes, I just jumped to Vietnamese cuisine, 1,145 miles away.)

• Pho-Eva Yarn (Noodles and sewing supplies)
• Girls Just Wanna Have Pho
• She'll Have Pho, Pho, Pho Now Her Daddy Took Her T-bone Away
• Don't Chew Pho Get It (Don Chu Pho Get About Me)
• One Two Three Pho
• One Pho In The Door
• What Is It Good Pho
• Fufu's Faux Pho
• Pho du FaFa
• Poor Un-Pho-Tunate Seoul (More like a news article about a Vietnamese restaurant closing in South Korea.)
• Pho Fo' You, Ewe

(Psst. Hey. Yeah, no, you're doing great. Just one little thing: ... Pho is pronounced "fuh".)

....

I saw a Smart Car speeding down the highway, and the Benny Hill theme played in my head.

(Haha. It'd be awesome if they had that on YouTube.)

Thank you, ZeInternet.

dootdoodoo. dootdoo. doodoodoo

I need to talk about "Baby Shark."

My sister wanted me to cut and color her hair. I wanted to cut and color my sister's hair. We never have enough time for me to properly infuse my sister's head with the full potential of my amateur cosmetology prowess. I thought we had it rough with our tight schedules and lack of patience. There has to be a special breed of salon masters who specialize in cutting new parents' hair while they're holding on to a bored squirmy child.
Enter Baby Shark. We listened to this song on a loop for literally hours. Here's the crazy part: I never got sick of it. I love this stupid song. My darling baby niece loves this stupid song. My sister puts a soothing, happy bounciness to this song when she sings it with a dimpled smile to her daughter. I thought the best song in the world was "Good Vibrations" from the Beach Boys, but it might have just been bested by a baby shark (dootdoodoo dootdoo doodoodoo).

My dad is the type of man who listens carefully for a spark of passion in your conversation, researches it, masters the knowledge, and educates you further on what you already love. If you mention a band's music video, for example, he will research the band, the video, other videos by the band, other bands under the same record label, news about the band, individual band members' solo projects, etc.

... My sister has just introduced my dad to "Baby Shark."

cuckoo. g'joob.

Over a text conversation, my sister asked how I was doing. I let her know that the small fold in the back of my throat, lovingly referred to as my "throat vajayjay", had captured a large ball of partially-digested food (why is it always white?!) in the back of the trap instead of the usual nook of the front fold. I can usually massage the folds until the blob pops out, but it usually results in a serious gag reflex, and sometimes minor residual irritation that disappears within an hour. Although this particular swabbing was an eventual success, it challenged me to the point of disturbing and evicting the contents of my stomach.

Side note: The more information I gift upon the question "how are you", the more likely it is that I treasure our relationship. An individual could read a Soozn one-word answer as curt and testing, like a moat guarding a wall guarding an army guarding a titan guarding a plasma forcefield guarding a mutant army guarding another moat (this one's on fire) guarding a fence (covered in spikes decorated a la Vlad the Impaler) guarding a chihuahua guard dog guarding a fortress. Either that, or a Soozn could be feeling lazy.

I asked my sister how she was doing. She complained of a sharp pain in her abdomen. A few hours later, she finished her shift at work, picked up her 9-month-old daughter, and drove herself to the ER. After an uninvited tour of San Francisco and what can only be a practical joke (thanks Google Maps!), I finally arrived at the hospital in time to hold the beautiful, crying baby while my sister received an ultrasound. (It would appear that my niece is far-sighted, and can only truly appreciate my presence from at least a foot away.)
     We awaited results and I did my best to keep both mother and child entertained, making balloon puppets out of gloves, sharing string beans, hiccuping, singing, clapping, hopping around with tupperware-- y'know, the usual auntie bag of tricks. Since the past three years have been filled with multiple hospital trips for all of the members of my immediate family, I tend to travel daily with a cell charger, deodorant, water, snacks, and aspirin. (I've considered keeping an overnight bag in the trunk of my car, but then it'd sit there and get smelly and I'd have to eventually wash it-- it just seemed like too much of a hassle.)
     A staff member arrived to request the copayment, and my sister had her hands full of bored, squirmy princess whilst hooked to an IV drip that was being tugged and tested in the fray. I was called-upon to fetch currency from the shirt breast pocket, and in doing so, I retrieved... an egg.

(I just asked my boyfriend what game he's playing on his PC. The name went in one ear and out the other. Is there a random video game title generator out there? Super Dungeon Wrangler Fighting Battleground Zero Six Turbo Rally Force Dungeon Master Hero -ville...)

     My sister's husband arrived before my hospital volunteer shift arrived at its 3-hour mark... after I'd worked a hectic 10-hour shift. I took my leave and returned home (a 1.5-hour drive), just in time to scarf down some dinner and get my 6 hours of rest before my hectic understaffed Friday.

I've. Earned. This.

potato. cowboy. lunch.

One day I was a potato.

Another day I was a turtle.

I had a pointy face and white cowboy boots and a dense yellow poster reminding parents to not let their children grow up to be monkeys whilst depicting a rodeo monkey in full cowboy garb slinging a lasso.

... It honestly frustrates me that I need to break down my beautiful poetic words to include everyone on what my expressions are attempting to convey.
     I once heard a stand-up comedian describe the look of Irish people as "potatoes." This invokes an image of something round, bloated, and pocked, whilst doubling as a historical reference to the Irish Potato Famine of the mid-1800's. (The comedian was also Irish, like meeee.) Part homage to this comedian and part self-deprecation, my bored-senseless mind clung to this thought whilst it tried to distract itself from the agony of Bay Area traffic.
     A few days later, I was trying on clothing, and a particular top had a rather large rounded collar, bringing attention to my odd neck, which is segmented like a fluffy marshmallow winter coat, and the tiny potato head sitting on top, like an upside-down exclamation point. (What a God-awful sundae I've just illustrated, with gobbed marshmallow and uncooked potato. I sincerely apologize.)
     And the rest is quite literally history. Which brings us to today...

Soba, you're benched. I will abandon you in the trash, you disgusting garbage. Pretzels! French onion dip!  You're up! Let's do this.

....

Actually......

... No, no. I should at least attempt nutrients today so I can finish my shift fueled with something more tangible than mere anger.

thai. kimchi. sunday.

Dear Thai food,

Please become sentient and crawl your way across the bridge to my place without getting cold or run-over.

My goal is to avoid leaving my apartment for any reason today, as I was social for most of yesterday and require at least one day a week in which I don't see or speak to another human unless it's attached to me (like a sister or a boyfriend).

I don't want your company, Thai food. I just want to eat you and pretend I'm getting more nutrients than the meat-and-cheese plate I had for brunch, or the half-a-bowl of off-brand Cinnamon Toast Crunch that made it beyond the Pool of Eventual Soggy-Death.

If you can drag some kimchi over with ya, you'll get a bonus reward. In fact, you can all party it up in my tum-tum until your dying day.
Which will be today. When I eat you. When you figure out self-transportation. And install that sidecar for your buddy.

Thanks.

PS- I'm *this close* to walking up to one of those fruit stand guys and asking them to sell coffee instead.

red. prius. blast.

After my Thursday morning commute, I paused to write-vent...

Dear entitled young Caucasian man in the red Prius,
Your little game of chicken on the merge onto the bridge did not leave me amused, nor did your ugly little finger. In my mind, I keyed your car, applied maple syrup to your car handles, cracked your windows with marbles, threw water balloons full of pee, infected you with a really terrible case of chickenpox, and stabbed you in the head at least eight times. Yet in reality, I kept my distance and glowered for the next hour. 
Please learn to merge and teach others to be courteous drivers. Thank you so much.
#stopbeinganasshole #notworthit #younotalldat

Turns out that not all of my Facebook friends understand my sense of humor, or trust that I didn't really want to do horrible things to another human being. (Welcome to a big reason why I need this blog in my life.)

On Monday, I woke up before my alarm, did yoga, drank tea instead of coffee (on a 48-hour no-coffee low-stimulant streak), had a nice calm day at work, and all was well.
Tuesday... 2+ cups of coffee, brought a salad that would go ignored for the entire day, went on my lunch break very late, ate an apple while sitting on line at the drive-through Taco Bell, over-ordered and nearly finished an obscenely-huge jug of Mountain Dew (Baja Blast), which contains 109 g of sugar and 4.50 mgs of caffeine per fluid ounce (coffee is 12 mgs, a latte is 9 mgs, black tea has 6mg, Diet Coke has 3.83...)
Wednesday... energy drink + chocolate + microwavable mac'n'cheese.
Thursday? Late to work, Prius jousting, old salad...
Friday. Swallowed the Book of Calm and zenned-da-puck-out. Overslept, had a donut and coffee, and grabbed productivity by the nether-yo-yos like a BAUS.

Is there a moral to this story? Y'know, beyond the fact that I have a growing hatred of Priuses?

Honestly, I don't know why I sleep so much. The caffeine dealio may be part of it, or perhaps it's interrupted REM cycles-- but really, I've loved sleep since my childhood. "Do I have to go to dance class, or can I just sleep?" "I'd like to quit gymnastics so I can just sleep instead." "Girls scouts is the worst; napping is the best. I'mma take off this ridiculous vest." "Bat mitzvah? Study Hebrew after school to earn a party, a nice dress, and moneys while I'm becoming a woman? ... Naaaah, got an SNES and sleep. I'm good." "Road trip? Oh, good! That means I get to sleep a bunch in the back seat!" Some people have "wander-lust" or "the travel bug" or whatever... My vacations consist of cleaning, organizing, couch-potatoing, and...... gosh, what was it? Oh, that's right- sleeeeeeeeeeeeeep. I live where I live, right? Since I have to live with it, I might as well improve it on the daily, enjoy the fruits of my labors, y'know?

... Crap, I'm outta coffee. Post over!

lime. coffee. quilts.

It's all the rage...

The idea of rentable bikes is very cool, but a) it can easily disrupt the flow of foot traffic on sidewalks and b) there's an increasing number of bike riders who don't wear helmets. 
Has any troll already tried renting a bunch of bikes and leaving them all bunched together as an obnoxious barricade?
Yay green power. Let's hope for safe, responsible cyclists. 

Think of what we can build together.
... with obnoxious green bikes.
A fortress? Dare I say... a wall?
I don't know how the security of these bikes works, but creative not-so-wholesome types must be getting some interesting ideas.
What about those who don't have smartphones but want to use these bikes? What if someone pees on it? What if someone just needs to replace the wheel of their personal bike, and it just so happens to be the same style/size/whatever of these Lime bikes? Can someone affix a fruit cart to a bike and call it their business? Do these bikes have the lime logo? Does that logo include ADA-approved braille? Are there bicycles built for two? Are any of them mimics or transformers? Can you install your own personal bicycle bell? Are these ever used for street jousting? If they reach a geographical limit, do they spontaneously combust? Can you attach your own sign to these for mobile ads? Will there ever be tricycles? Unicycles?

Dear Starbucks,
Why did you name one of your featured drinks "triple mocha" when you've already taught the world that, in your vocabulary, "triple" refers to espresso shots, not "likesomuchchocolate"? Didn't think that would get confusing, hm? 
Especially since Peets' medium drinks already have 3 espresso shots whereas your equivalent ("grande") has 2, rendering it very common for many coffee-enthusiasts to order an extra shot just to make a latte taste like something more than steamed milk. Jussayin.

#starbucksfail

An absolutely logical conversation. Coffee, feet, quilt, brain-eating, Pinterest, hugs... Very natural flow of ideas. Tell me you haven't heard this exact conversation in your local neighborhood coffee shop.

color. shape. udon.

I helped start the GSA (gay-straight-alliance) in high school.
I took color theory in college.

Color doesn't define a gender.
A hundred years ago, the roles of pink and blue were reversed for American society, with pink for boys and blue for girls. Again, not that it really matters.
Honestly, more than half of baby-admirers don't even notice colors or patterns while guessing the sex of your child.
Baby girl could be covered in Minnie Mouse, flowers and pink glitter, in a stroller dripping with recycled baby shower "It's a GIRL!!!" decor, and some stranger's still gonna walk up and say, "Aww how cute. What's his name?"

Dear TheInternet,
I would like to place an order for one cover of Nickelback's "Photograph" covered by Ed Sheeran.
Tanksveddymooch.
DaSoozn

This still hasn't happened. Nor has a photograph of Ed Sheeran eating udon. Maybe that's why he's no longer in Billboard's top 20.

Looks like you could use some ice for that burn.

why. archer. purse.

I started this blog so I could share entertaining blah-de-blahs that are too verbose for Facebook culture.
'Cause you know, we only check there when we're bored or retired (lookin atchu, Ma), to check out everyone's successes (family, pets, charitable gracings, new toys, finished projects, that one time she took a jog, that one time he didn't have carbs on his plate, hardly-relevant depersonalized memes, "Look I'm outside for once", etc.) or to stalk people you "honestly couldn't care less" about.
If it's an update longer than 2 lines, it's TLDR and most likely chain-spam-kickstarter-garbage.

... Lesse what drivel I can catch you up on (GN: "drivel on which to catch you up")...

When someone has an idea, tries, and it results in an undesirable effect, there's a huge difference between responding with, "That was a bad idea" versus, "It was worth a try".

A coworker has a nasty habit of being negative, challenging everything, analyzing details until something disintegrates, and shooting down hope with his pointy little arrows of pessimism.
He was a GPS in his past life.
... One that only knew about highways and didn't care about traffic.
"What are you doing, you twit?"
"Oh, I was taking a side route to avoid traffic--"
"This is incorrect. Make a U-turn now."
"But this way is scenic and more relaxing--"
"Does not compute. U-turn. NOW."

I participated in a party game that involved checking off items from a list of objects kept in a purse. Items ranged from typical (keys, wallet) to atypical (mints, floss, flashlight, medication, tweezers) to "oh that's where that went!" (pet treats, knife, deodorant, slinky, anything considered alive, potato, coffee grounds, a hammer, super glue, clump of grass, etc.)
I was disappointed to win second place. Should've brought a bigger purse.

hello.

I wrote this on my leg while I was on the toilet at work.

An undeniable roller ball pen masterpiece.
I get bored and like multitasking when I'm working. The momentum keeps me going.

It irks me when a coworker claims, "There's nothing to do." There is always something to do, some way of improving things, helping others, strategizing, cleaning, restocking, row-boating, gargling fluid, writing a note for the boss who's never there: "Thank you for all that you do and for always being there. <3"

You don't wanna know how many blogs I've had over the years. I love writing: journals, poetry, songs, short stories, long stories, observations, analysis... At one point, I wanted to be a comic strip artist, but my drawings could never keep up with my ideas and I'd wrap myself in a tortilla of impatience and resign to the first job interview that goes well.

You probably don't need a background on me; you probably know me, or you're only reading the good shit.

Either way, here's blog attempt #bajillion.
Thank you Corinne for being so positive and so supportive, and thank you Riss, my #1 fan and shared brainwaves iluffewsermerchuh.