Random Kingdom Nation #3

Just little ol' me waiting to get some dim sum sum.

Could I be more Asian? I suppose if I crammed some fortune cookies up my @$# I'd be.

On that note. You may have noticed that I updated the look of the blog. I also added some items at the bottom of each post that asks for your reaction. Please click one of them to let me gauge how you feel. If I get too many "TMIs," I might just tone it down a bit. : )

Random indeed,

Ricky

Ricky Routes in "The Most Dangerous Drive"

I just spent a terrific night hanging out with Erico Suave and MacArthur. It was a rockin' homemade dinner party. Erico Suave cooked baked chicken cordon bleu and rosemary potatoes, MacArthur brought out some soda, and I brought Coldstone cupcakes for dessert. I also brought Rock Band for us to play. The food was great and I got ripped off at Coldstone (after the guy charged me full price instead of the discounted price advertised right next to the register and then claimed the discount period was over), but this blog isn't about the actual dinner party. It's about the drive home.

I didn't leave their place until 1:11AM when I was already dozing off. I knew I had a tough drive ahead of me, given that Newport Beach is about a 40 minute drive from home. So I put on the iPod, set it to "In the Heights," and drove into the night.

But not even rapping like Usnavi could keep me from dozing off. It started with the vision. I would see the lanes in front of me and then a sort of delayed lane, almost as if I was inebriated (but I wasn't). Then I felt my consciousness slip; you know, like mini black outs. Nothing long enough to run off the road or anything, but noticeably losing awareness about surroundings.

At one point, there was a car way ahead of me and all of a sudden, I was on his tail. I panicked and quick maneuvered into the next lane and passed him.

As soon as I realized what was happening, I slapped my face around and immediately started singing louder to the songs, trying to wake myself up. Usually that does the trick, but this time was different. I began dozing off still, but fully aware that I was still singing at the top of my lungs. It was as if my singing body self was separate from my mental state. This really freaked me out.

I don't really know how I did it, but I made it home safely. I'm really not looking forward to experiencing that again. I need to learn to love coffee or something.


Sleep deprived,

Ricky

Random Kingdom Nation #2

This is only an experiment. I am posting this picture from the train on my way home. Does it work? We'll see!

Keeping up with the Joneses,

Ricky

If The Shoes and Hats Fit

In need of some new shoes for the Orlando trip, I went shopping in the O.C. last night with Erico Suave and MacArthur.

The first mission was to buy a fedora. I never met a fedora that I could make work, but I was determined to force one to. At Urban Outfitters, it just so happened that all fedoras were $20! Score. So digging through the lot, I found nothing. Everything was either too big or like highwater pants for the head. It made it all the more depressing when many whiter folks came into the store sporting fedoras and looking oh so natural.

So I gave up. I accepted that I just wasn't the correct race and found a golf cap that I loved. I put it on and immediately felt like I was Usnavi from "In The Heights." How lame is that! I know!

But then just as we were about to checkout, Erico Suave found a straw fedora, plopped it on my head, and it worked! I was an Asian in a fedora and looked normal. So I bought it! And I wore it around for the rest of the day.

Then we moved on to South Coast Plaza for some shoes. I classify myself as a stingy shopper. Generally I only buy things when they are on sale. I remember Erico Suave once told me that he bought a $200 pair of jeans. My jaw hit the floor and I hurtled myself out a window. I was shocked.

And while I would still never pay $200 for a pair of pants (why when Old Navy has them for $15?) I did think buying shoes only for deals is the wrong way to go. So I went looking to buy a pair of shoes that felt good on my feet. And boy did I find them!

Diesel shoes. White. Like they were custom built and broken in for my feet. Light and like stepping on clouds. I bought them without considering the price. They were $90. Not TOO bad actually. That's normal, I'm told.

But then, on a shoe shelf, I found a pair of slippers (made from many recyclable parts) that matched the golf cap I bought earlier! I tried it on for the hell of it and they too were extremely comfortable! So, I had to have it. Slippers... $60.

I won't make these shopping sprees a habit. I'll still look for deals since I'm human and want to max out my buck. But it's nice to buy stuff for the right reasons (you love it / it absolutely fits) rather than because it's cheap and you can settle on the look and feel.

Does that make sense? Who cares. Check out these photos:






Yo ye-ye-yo yo!

Usricky

Gas Fit For Passing

If you're looking for a high-brow blog entry today, you're in for quite the disappointment. This story is about gas.

All this week I've done nothing to help my runny-bowelslexia. From Sunday, eating nachos just before midnight; Monday, yogurt and coffee cake; Tuesday, Hooters massive wing overload; Wednesday, spicy ramen noodles and Yogurtland; Today, cereal with milk, this is not good for my quasi-lactose intolerance.

And so, each day riding home on the train from work, I've been in agony holding the gas in. It's torturous because in such a small enclosed space such as a train cabin, I don't want to embarrass myself by being the one who dealt it. But let's face it, you can't always keep it bottled inside. Sometimes there are some like the jaws-of-life that rip open your cheeks and soar like uncaged falcons.

So here's the strategy: When a fart comes a-knockin', I feign sleep and let it rip quietly. If I'm playing my iPod, I pause the song or lower the volume so that I can hear the successful silence. I feel bad and pray that nobody smells it, but I'm sure people do. I mean, the way the chairs are situated, someone is sitting directly behind me on a seat that's attached to my seatback.

But most of the time I hold it in, which makes me feel sick. Sometimes even, when I'm asleep on the train, I wake up just in time to clench my bum and block the gas from becoming a fart. It's nerve-wracking thinking about how close I've come to total dignity destruction.

Anyway, today, a really fat man sat next to me (and across from Timotei). I really had to be on my best behavior with the guy sitting right next to me, so I held back in pain. Every once in a while a fart would escape and became the source of my shame. I felt so bad when that happened.

At the next stop is when 75% of the passengers detrain the train. There were several empty seats everywhere in the car... so why the hell were three guys cramped in so closely together in a four-seater. Maybe the guy was too fat to move, I have no idea. But it pissed me off! Seriously, the guy was so massive that he spilled over into my seating area and also invaded Timotei's space. We had claimed the seats first! He should have moved to a different spot!

I was pissed, so my source of shame suddenly became my weapon. I let 'er fly. I let 'er rip as long and sloppy as I could. I'm not sure if it was the attack that was so gratifying or maybe it was just because I was unloading all the toxic gas, but it felt GOOOOOOD.

But you know what? It still did not chase him away. Maybe it was because my passed gas was a step up from his usual odor, I don't know! But when we reached the next station and he still didn't budge, I had to bail. I got up and moved to a wide open space. Anything that happened after that was completely inconsequential. Though I do feel bad as I write this out.

My story does end happily however. I got to the toilet with time to spare and truly unloaded what ailed me. I may have to reload soon for a future sneak attack. You'll never know what hit you.


Safety,

Ricky

Super-Size Three

Originally I was going to write three separate entries for the very different stories that I've accumulated over the past four days, but I just don't have the time nor patience for that. So one combined blog is what you gonna get!

--My Last RENT!--
I've lost count of how many times I've seen the show RENT. It had to be at least ten. But when I caught word that the original Mark and Roger would reprise their roles for a final national Broadway Tour, I had to get tickets. And so I contacted group sales on the very first day they became available and reserved 52 seats in the front mezzanine of the Pantages. In the end, I was only able to fill 35 seats (and relinquished the rest). The show became sold out! It was a very hot ticket event and I should have scalped them like mad!

The show was this past Sunday evening. So how was it? It was a great last show to watch, definitely! Anthony Rapp (Mark) is the best Mark ever. His youthful enthusiasm is awe inspiring. And then Adam Pascal (Roger) has the best singing voice for Roger. No one sounds better than him, bar none. But I was disappointed. He seemed like just a voice. He seemed to have phoned it in. I've seen way better Rogers play the role with fire and intensity. Pascal was stiff and nonreactionary. I later learned that in an earlier city, he had a herniated disc which explains what we saw. Still though, it was a great show, brilliant to see, and a high note to end things on. The best part of the night was Pascal singing "One Song Glory" and near the end, he hit this note higher than usual. It was amazing!

--Hawt Wing Men!--
Tuesday evening brought about finally satisfying my hot wing craving at Hooters! All-you-can-eat wings and trivia night! Mr. Mikey, Timotei, and I went after work and when the night was over, we had a total of 88 wings under our belts! I personally had 27 wings.

During their trivia challenge, we didn't know the answers to the questions, so we just had fun creating our team names. During the first round, we were Stunlaw (our old Rock Band band name); second round we became Rack Bauer (named after the female equivalent of Jack Bauer on this season of 24); round three we were Snoo-Snoo (named for the Amazon Women's favorite activity in Futurama). And in that third round, Snoo-Snoo tied for first place and Mr. Mikey went up to the front for a tie breaker, but lost.

All-in-all, I never want to see another chicken wing again. And a fun night.

--Gopher the Jugular!--
We thought our gopher woes were over after I bought an electronic sonar gopher detractor. It seemed to be working perfectly after all the gophers left and the mounds on our lawn leveled off. But then we came home last week to find mounds of dirt all around the sonar stick. The gopher is either deaf or the thing doesn't work.

There were two fresh holes. Looking down on one of them, I saw the little devil peek upward and retreat back down. It was actually kind of cute and cuddly. I sprinkled gopher killer pellets down the hole in hopes to kill it.

Cut to today. We returned from work and found a fresh hole carved in the middle of our lawn. Having had enough, we shoved a hose down the hole and pumped that little shit's habitat full of water. As the hole topped out with water, we knew he'd have to come up for air sooner or-- THERE HE IS!

An ugly soaking wet, skinny head popped out of the previously dug hole. It had nasty beady eyes and resembled a squirrel crawling with disease; no more cute and cuddly.

The website I visited said to keep a shovel handy and whack it once it reared its ugly head. I couldn't do it though! So Timotei took a swing, but the little bugger dropped back into the hole just as the shovel came down on it and then immediately back up. Comically like a Whack-a-Mole game, Timotei continued to hammer down, but no luck! Finally, Timotei took a stab at its head in an attempt to guillotine it to death and the thing didn't pop back up.

So assuming it was dead, we shoveled the mounds of dirt back into the holes. But alluva sudden, I noticed the beady eyes under a previously unseen hole under a tuft of grass! Timotei dropped the hammer one last time and we never saw those eyes again.

Hopefully it's dead. This weekend we will dig up the entire area in an attempt to fill in the underground burrows so that no other squirrel-looking squatters move in. If it's not dead, we'll flood that home one more time, but this time, with my dad's help who has experience whacking gophers. We will reclaim our lawn.


Glad to be done with this,

Ricky

Always The Groomsman...

Sweet cheeks! Ellvin Kelvin asked me to be a groomsman in his wedding! And he asked me all funky. Case in point:

Ellvin Kelvin: it would be an honor to have both you and [Timotei] as one of my groomsmen

To which I responded:

RickyRoutes: How does that work?

To which he went on to tell me what a groomsman does.

Obviously I know what a groomsman does, but for a second, I thought he had one groomsman position open and he wanted both me and Timotei to fill it. I imagined both of us taking one arm each of a single bridesmaid and walking down the aisle in a sort of formal dressed ménage à trois.

But alas, he meant that both of us would be groomsmen -- which is sweet as heck!!!

I'm super psyched! Should make for a really fun time!


Dressed to kill,

Ricky

Morlando!

I wanted to post something, but there's nothing to talk about. I guess I could break to you how much I am in need of a vacation! You see, at work, I've been made head of the international front for my division. It's not really a promotion or anything; I had always been sort of the point person for the international stuff, but now it's just official. So no pay raise or anything; just more responsibilities, work, and stress. All of which do not help pass time quickly when counting down to Orlando 2009!

Have I mentioned Orlando 2009? Typically a trip out to Florida would be called simply Walt Disney World (insert year). But this year we're doing more than just Walt Disney World. No ma'am! We're also doing Universal Studios Orlando!!! That means Islands of Adventure baby! That means Men in Black The Ride! That means 10 years of wanting to ride Spiderman--- finally fulfilled FTW!

But this trip isn't just introducing one new aspect to the tired old formula. No siree! We're also adding Typhoon Lagoon (water park) to the itinerary! And to sweeten the already sickeningly saccharine sweet plan, we're also miniature golfing and very possibly motor boat cruising! There are just too many things to do with such precious little time.

This is the mother of all trips. And to have my two bestest friends in the entire world with me... I'm just the happiest luckiest person in the world.

Oh, by the way, the trip is in late April.


Arguing the validity of the word "bestest,"

Ricky

Line Etiquette

The nerve of some people.

Have you ever shopped in a Burlington Coat Factory? It's like shopping at a Ross after a tornado piles more shit on the inventory already scattered on the floor.

Huge **CLEARANCE** signs drew me to the racks. I thumbed through the supposed Small and Medium racks, through misplaced XXL and XXXL sizes, and found (after all was said and done) one shirt.

It was a yellow Bayside Tigers school spirit shirt for $5. Perfectly odd for the Orlando trip coming in exactly two months time.

So I jumped in the checkout line. The one and only check out lane that was open. Six people stood in front of me and the clerk was painfully slow.

While waiting in line, I overhear two fat gangsta Mexicans behind me holding piles of clothes. One discusses his desire to buy a big bottle of Burberry cologne. The bottle is behind glass.

A lady heads with her paid-for items toward the exit, turns around, and says "There's a register with NO WAIT diagonally from here."

I take the bait and walk to the other check-out counter, but the fat Mexicans cut me off and beat me there.

So let me draw a picture for you. Two fat Mexicans carrying oversized baggy sweaters to purchase. Me, holding one shirt, worth five bucks, ready to pay with cash. Maybe I have too much faith in humanity, but I half expected them to let me go first since I was ready with my money and only had one dinky shirt.

But nope!!! Fat man #1 went first and the clerk was just as slow as the first one. Then the second fatty checks his items out, takes forever, and then has the gall to ask for the bottle of cologne too! She says that he has to get someone to open the glass case and bring it to her so she can scan it. He LEAVES THE LINE and the clerk slowly finishes scanning his other items, bags them, and waits.

It wasn't till I LOUDLY sighed in displeasure that she cleared the fatty's transaction and rang me up. Fucking people.

But all in all, the shirt was worth it. Plus I got to reaffirm my hatred of fat gangstas.


Hearing the Bayside Tigers growl,

Ricky

Horseback

I'm going to go ahead and write this blog, but you probably won't see it until later in the year. Reason? Pyong is threatening me at knifepoint not to make this public.

I'm kidding.

I've got to keep this entry private until I tell my parents about... MY TATTOO!

YES! After so many years of threatening and wanting, I finally said to myself, you know, I'm 27. I will get a tattoo if I want one.

But it's always a matter of what to get. Since maybe the 8th grade, I've had this necklace of my last name in Chinese. The literal translation is "horse." I've been wearing this necklace for perhaps close to a decade now? I just really love the way that it is written. And so, I knew that there was nothing more I wanted on my back than my own last name.

But enough about the selection process. What you really want to know is... did it hurt?

The answer is an unequivocal YES!

After asking Angel Wing Jasmine and various co-workers what it feels like, I never prepared myself for how it actually felt! It really did feel like a scalpel slicing your flesh open. And the shortest line feels like an eternity. I'd say that the outline part was the worst of it though. When he colored in the design, it hurt too, but I don't remember it hurting as much. Maybe it's because my flesh started to get numb. Who knows? But I will stress that it still hurt like a bitch.

I kept my eyes shut and kept trying to rap this one verse from In The Heights, but I couldn't get passed two lines because once he drove the needle into my back, I became like a skipping record. I just couldn't think of anything else but the pain and found myself forgetting the lyrics and thus repeating the same line over and over.

During the tattooing, I said to myself: "This is the one and only tattoo I'm ever getting."

But as I sit here simply loving my new tattoo and thinking how awesome it feels on my back, I'm thinking more may be in the cards. I just need to find the absolute right image. Because not only is it with you for the rest of your life, but it hurts like a mother and so it has to be absolutely worth it.




Becoming a biker babe,

Ricky