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It keeps going
Showing posts with label random. Show all posts
Showing posts with label random. Show all posts
March 14, 2013
August 22, 2012
It's 4 o'clock in the morning
My phone gave out a loud buzz. Instinctively, I knew it was a missed call. I'm always missing my calls. When I was in high school, I would get excited picking ringtones on my Razr. When I found out I could edit songs and make them ringtones, I'd have people call me just so I can hear the snippet of that song. Now, when anyone calls me, I don't hear a thing. It doesn't vibrate, it doesn't ring.
I had 3 missed calls from Dad. 7:17, 7:20, and 7:35 in the morning. I know I can't speedily subtract, but I knew it was early in Los Angeles. 4 o'clock early. I was wide awake when I realized the time. Why is he calling me? Is everything okay? Is mom okay? Did someone die? What else would I assume if my dad calls me at 4 in the morning?
Instead of calling back, I checked my voicemail.
"Hi, it's Dad. You got a letter," he said loudly in Vietnamese. I hear my mother yelling something in the background. At least I know they're both alive.
I called back.
"You got a mail for jury duty!" he said.
I was speechless.
"I'll have your brother mail it to you! Remember to fill it out, tell them you don't live here anymore."
I didn't bother to ask why they both were up so early and why they had to call me at that moment.
"Are you going to work now?" he asked.
I said yes, hung up the phone, and went back to sleep.
I had 3 missed calls from Dad. 7:17, 7:20, and 7:35 in the morning. I know I can't speedily subtract, but I knew it was early in Los Angeles. 4 o'clock early. I was wide awake when I realized the time. Why is he calling me? Is everything okay? Is mom okay? Did someone die? What else would I assume if my dad calls me at 4 in the morning?
Instead of calling back, I checked my voicemail.
"Hi, it's Dad. You got a letter," he said loudly in Vietnamese. I hear my mother yelling something in the background. At least I know they're both alive.
I called back.
"You got a mail for jury duty!" he said.
I was speechless.
"I'll have your brother mail it to you! Remember to fill it out, tell them you don't live here anymore."
I didn't bother to ask why they both were up so early and why they had to call me at that moment.
"Are you going to work now?" he asked.
I said yes, hung up the phone, and went back to sleep.
July 11, 2012
I feel good
The people.
Are willing to help.
Me.
Help me.
Believe.
The simplicity of kindness.
The few people.
Who are willing to help.
Thank you.
For adding more colors.
For your kindness.
I will.
May 17, 2012
It's an unusual entry that will possibly occur again
I'm craving sesame buns and bbq kalbi. I'm craving spicy ramen. I'm done craving. It's 2:29am. The internet is slow. I'll never finish Mad Men and having it pause every second frustrates me. I can't be frustrated at this time. It then started to play again, but for some reason the show changed into another show starring Jennifer Love Hewitt. This is what I get for streaming online and not owning AMC.
People are getting married. 7 years, break up, and after a few months of dating a church boy, she's getting married. She's younger than me. I don't know her. There is no relevance to this story.
This, I am warning you, is me writing at 2:31am now (I can't help but update on the time). I've been home for an hour. We left at 12:30 and the train wasn't working. I walked to 8th ave again. I love walking at night in the city. People are out. I feel safe.
I haven't had a chance to bake or make a decent dinner. This is when I know I'm busy. Before, I wouldn't go to events because I was "busy" and really, that just meant I didn't want to go. Now, when I say I'm "busy" I mean I have no time to relax when I get home. I go straight to bed (or try to watch Mad Men but fail).
I'm reading more. I'm sleeping less. My skin has never felt so disgusting. There are many things going on. I'm not making sense. Can't you tell by my short boring sentences?
He says I do too much, I want too much.
I feel something missing, and sometimes, that worries me. I want something, and it isn't there. I can't actually say what I want (because I can't put a finger on it) but I know I don't have it.
Does that make sense?
Love me, understand me, take care of me, show compassion, show interest, inspire me.
30 hours this week. 30 hours next week? And then I am off on the road. But I won't be writing a book and I won't be on drugs.
I'm looking forward to it, I am, but I'm also dreading it. Expectations, I have too many. And when things don't go my way, I become flustered. Who doesn't?
These short sentences will make no sense to me in seven hours. I'll re-read this, and will apologize to my dazed and confused self, and any readers out there.
This is not normal.
This is an entry that will go on, and it won't end because I won't end it.
I'm writing just because I've been wanting to write for so long, but had no time. I don't have time now, but I'm forcing myself to just write anything. Updates, updates are hard to type up. I find them boring. I like to recreate specific moments, the way I see them.
This entry is not about specific moments. Rather, it is about a mind that has not rested. Reflection is needed. Self awareness.
Don't become those girls who work all the time, and are too busy all the time.
Memories. People. Timeless. Joy. Facebook is a tragedy. Unread messages, glimpses of life. Picking at our curiosity. Our need to compare. Our need to know. We know too much, and too little. We know details, but not the whole. We know your public persona, but not you. We know what you want us to know. Know is a strange word and I really want to say now. We're hiding messages. We seek love. We want to be cared for. We want to belong. We need to belong. Interaction, even if virtual, somehow comforts us. It's a mess, and we've gone into deep. We don't have long chats. We check up on each other and know everything about each other without ever uttering a word. We know with our eyes. We know what you want us to know. Here we go again with the know. It's all a game.
Sleep will come in 10 minutes. Awake, again, at thirty pass eight. Train. Falling in and out of naps. The busy day will come and it will go, and before I know it, I'm here again, trying to watch a show, trying to slow down my day, but it will happen again. And I won't be able to tell you when it will stop.
People are getting married. 7 years, break up, and after a few months of dating a church boy, she's getting married. She's younger than me. I don't know her. There is no relevance to this story.
This, I am warning you, is me writing at 2:31am now (I can't help but update on the time). I've been home for an hour. We left at 12:30 and the train wasn't working. I walked to 8th ave again. I love walking at night in the city. People are out. I feel safe.
I haven't had a chance to bake or make a decent dinner. This is when I know I'm busy. Before, I wouldn't go to events because I was "busy" and really, that just meant I didn't want to go. Now, when I say I'm "busy" I mean I have no time to relax when I get home. I go straight to bed (or try to watch Mad Men but fail).
I'm reading more. I'm sleeping less. My skin has never felt so disgusting. There are many things going on. I'm not making sense. Can't you tell by my short boring sentences?
He says I do too much, I want too much.
I feel something missing, and sometimes, that worries me. I want something, and it isn't there. I can't actually say what I want (because I can't put a finger on it) but I know I don't have it.
Does that make sense?
Love me, understand me, take care of me, show compassion, show interest, inspire me.
30 hours this week. 30 hours next week? And then I am off on the road. But I won't be writing a book and I won't be on drugs.
I'm looking forward to it, I am, but I'm also dreading it. Expectations, I have too many. And when things don't go my way, I become flustered. Who doesn't?
These short sentences will make no sense to me in seven hours. I'll re-read this, and will apologize to my dazed and confused self, and any readers out there.
This is not normal.
This is an entry that will go on, and it won't end because I won't end it.
I'm writing just because I've been wanting to write for so long, but had no time. I don't have time now, but I'm forcing myself to just write anything. Updates, updates are hard to type up. I find them boring. I like to recreate specific moments, the way I see them.
This entry is not about specific moments. Rather, it is about a mind that has not rested. Reflection is needed. Self awareness.
Don't become those girls who work all the time, and are too busy all the time.
Memories. People. Timeless. Joy. Facebook is a tragedy. Unread messages, glimpses of life. Picking at our curiosity. Our need to compare. Our need to know. We know too much, and too little. We know details, but not the whole. We know your public persona, but not you. We know what you want us to know. Know is a strange word and I really want to say now. We're hiding messages. We seek love. We want to be cared for. We want to belong. We need to belong. Interaction, even if virtual, somehow comforts us. It's a mess, and we've gone into deep. We don't have long chats. We check up on each other and know everything about each other without ever uttering a word. We know with our eyes. We know what you want us to know. Here we go again with the know. It's all a game.
Sleep will come in 10 minutes. Awake, again, at thirty pass eight. Train. Falling in and out of naps. The busy day will come and it will go, and before I know it, I'm here again, trying to watch a show, trying to slow down my day, but it will happen again. And I won't be able to tell you when it will stop.
May 11, 2012
A dream of mine? To be in a musical.
Chicago - Cell Block Tango
Wicked - Defying Gravity
The Sound of Music - So Long, Farewell
Singing in the Rain - Singin' in the Rain
Grease - Summer Nights
Rent - Seasons of Love
May 3, 2012
Dream catalogue: Taxi in the water
It was my birthday. I’m in a dark room with young people, who I assume are my friends. I ask a girl where we should go.
I know a place on 32nd, in K-town.
Is it good?
It’s dark, so it’s good to hook up and stuff.
Ok, let’s just go there.
My dad comes in.
“Tashi, tashi!”
Everyone stares. They don’t understand.
I laugh so hard I fall to the ground. He couldn’t say taxi correctly.
“Two tashi outside.”
There are two taxis waiting outside to take all of us.
Tony’s at the corner, his face fills the whole frame. He’s lit compared to the dark room, dressed in a light blue dress shirt, the one he wore to his career fair trips. He looked at me and said “I can stay until 11. I have work.”
I get in the taxi, I see Fran in the corner, he’s curled up on the side. He’s wearing his white polo with brown lines running down the shoulders. It reminded me of something Eric Foreman would wear on That 70’s Show. He has been helping my parents while I was in the room with my 30 or so guests.
My mom, who’s in the driver’s seat shouts “one more!”
There’s already three of us, but we open the door and some girl joins us. She’s larger, so we basically have 5 people in the back seat.
“My mom can’t drive. She hasn’t driven in so long. And in NYC,” I said.
“It okay! I drive!”
She merges onto the lane, almost hitting the parked car in front of us. I didn’t know why my mom was driving when we were in a taxi cab.
She almost hits a car, but is not panicking.
I’m scared.
Images overlap of bumpers, lights, wheels, white cars and yellow cars, and a few black ones.
She’s on a road that leads to the beach.
Mom stop the car!
The car keeps moving. My mom doesn’t respond. We’re in the water now, and I feel it seeping into my shoes.
I unbuckled my mom’s seatbelt. She’s laughing.
Mom, this isn’t a video game. It isn’t Mario Kart. We aren’t going to restart! Mom this is real life!
She laughs and waits for the screen to fade to black, for a screen to pop up telling you to press A to start a new game.
This is real life! There’s no restart! Get out!
My dream ends.
Dream catalogue: Death
All I remember is that I am hiding under our kitchen table. However, there's some cabinets covering me. But that wasn't enough. The gunman shot my head. It felt so weird, like I was swallowing blood but it wasn't horrible. It took me to a different world. It didn't hurt. I guess I passed out for a few minutes because I remember Chloe was walking by me as I was on one of those ambulance beds. Once they put that oxygen mask on me, it felt so good. At the hospital, it turned out I was shot 4 times in the head. That's all I remember.
January 11, 2012
The poop story and how a kitty changed a life
And then there were two. Two needy, breathing mammals. Lexy came in a Zappos box and left in a legit pet carrier. This time, he, I mean she, is plumpier and I hope happier. The last four days has been hell for her and her owners. The internet said to place her in a small room with her food and litter box. We didn't want her to urinate in our bedroom. We didn't want to walk around smelling like kitten droppings so we avoided the closet. And we didn't want our brand old 50 inch television that might have the possibility of working to not work at all. Our tiny black and white restroom became her new home. After this new piece of information, we moved the litter box, her green rice to riches food container, and her furry self to the restroom, closed the door, and went about living our lives. I felt like a tiger mom punishing my daughter because she didn't take off her shoes in the house. That night, the cat's constant meowing joined my roommate's snoring. And that continued for three nights.
"Have you seen the restroom yet?" asked my roommate one morning. I was snuggled under my comforter, ten minutes past my alarm.
"You should look," he said eagerly.
Last time the cat peed on the white towel, knocked over my tree oil face wash, and destroyed our soft toilet paper. I knew it. She had taken down the shower curtains! I knew those plastic hooks from Ikea weren't going to last.
To my relief, the shower curtains were still hanging.
"She shitted all over the tub," my roommate said. I pulled the shower curtains open and immediately pulled them back. There were little pebbles of poop on the right side of the tub and in the middle was a fat one in a shape of a wishbone. I knew it wasn't a big deal, at least it wasn't human poop, but this was bad. Poop is poop.
I can never be a mother. We decided to split the task: I pick up the small poops and he picks up the wishbone poop. It was a fair deal because there were more small poops. There has to be a better word than poop right? It's starting to sound too cute. Poop.
And that was the end of it. I didn't want to pick up shit every day and I didn't want the white towel to turn yellow. Lastly, I was tired of having to hide our toilet paper and needing to collect the right amount of toilet paper before I sat on the toilet. The cat wasted a week's worth of toilet paper and that was the last straw.
That night, a kind lady responded to our craigslist ad (it was in the for sale section for $65, changed to $35 when no one responded, and after the poop tub incident, it moved to the free section). Her and her kids came over, met Lexy, fell in love with her, and left with her and the 3.5 pound bag of friskies cat food. Never have I ever seen a kid so happy.
In the end, I realized that I really am not a cat lady or any kind of animal lady and if kitten poop freaks me out there is no way I can handle cute baby poops. During one of my uproars, I confidently and dramatically told my roommate "Remember how we shouldn't have regrets? Well, my biggest regret is getting this cat!" and I take that back. Because of this cat, we both added happiness to a child's life. We provided this kitten with a loving home, and overall, Lexy taught me that I should be careful next time before I allow anyone/anything in my life because when I realize it isn't working, I can't post it on craigslist and have someone else fix my problem.
"Have you seen the restroom yet?" asked my roommate one morning. I was snuggled under my comforter, ten minutes past my alarm.
"You should look," he said eagerly.
Last time the cat peed on the white towel, knocked over my tree oil face wash, and destroyed our soft toilet paper. I knew it. She had taken down the shower curtains! I knew those plastic hooks from Ikea weren't going to last.
To my relief, the shower curtains were still hanging.
"She shitted all over the tub," my roommate said. I pulled the shower curtains open and immediately pulled them back. There were little pebbles of poop on the right side of the tub and in the middle was a fat one in a shape of a wishbone. I knew it wasn't a big deal, at least it wasn't human poop, but this was bad. Poop is poop.
I can never be a mother. We decided to split the task: I pick up the small poops and he picks up the wishbone poop. It was a fair deal because there were more small poops. There has to be a better word than poop right? It's starting to sound too cute. Poop.
And that was the end of it. I didn't want to pick up shit every day and I didn't want the white towel to turn yellow. Lastly, I was tired of having to hide our toilet paper and needing to collect the right amount of toilet paper before I sat on the toilet. The cat wasted a week's worth of toilet paper and that was the last straw.
That night, a kind lady responded to our craigslist ad (it was in the for sale section for $65, changed to $35 when no one responded, and after the poop tub incident, it moved to the free section). Her and her kids came over, met Lexy, fell in love with her, and left with her and the 3.5 pound bag of friskies cat food. Never have I ever seen a kid so happy.
In the end, I realized that I really am not a cat lady or any kind of animal lady and if kitten poop freaks me out there is no way I can handle cute baby poops. During one of my uproars, I confidently and dramatically told my roommate "Remember how we shouldn't have regrets? Well, my biggest regret is getting this cat!" and I take that back. Because of this cat, we both added happiness to a child's life. We provided this kitten with a loving home, and overall, Lexy taught me that I should be careful next time before I allow anyone/anything in my life because when I realize it isn't working, I can't post it on craigslist and have someone else fix my problem.
December 15, 2011
November 17, 2011
Big news from New York! Meet my new umbrella!
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| It isn't shy and doesn't like to hide in purses. It protects me from the rain and from foul strangers. |
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| And the handle is translucent. You need to see it in real life. Oooh Ahhh. |
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| To open, you just push it up half an inch... |
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| and the umbrella will open. Extremely sturdy. I think it will not flip over when the wind attacks me. |
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| Perfect coverage. For me and a few other people who happen to forget their umbrella. Sharing is caring. |
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| Do you see me? I love my new umbrella! |
November 8, 2011
I am thrilled that LA Times had a story about the tree!
So I am extremely excited about this. I came upon this article when I was on the LA Times trying to be up to date with news back home. This is so not an LA story, but I loved it anyways because it is relevant to me! Rockefeller Center Christmas tree is coming to town (shh!) reads the headline. The shh! made me feel giddy for some reason! I'm not sure why it is so newsworthy that a special tree is coming into town, but I am all for it. The tree lighting at the Rockefeller Center is so... New York City. And I love it. I sound like a goof ball but I'm extremely thrilled to be here, especially during the holidays. I can't wait to go ice skating at Central Park, make ugly snowmen, wear snow boots, watch Elf and cuddle up in my scarves and hats and layers and layers of warmth!
More posts will be arriving, soon enough. I'm scouring for amazing one $ sign cafes in NYC, which is where I will do my postings once a week because I cannot spend 5 dollars each day on a drink!
More posts will be arriving, soon enough. I'm scouring for amazing one $ sign cafes in NYC, which is where I will do my postings once a week because I cannot spend 5 dollars each day on a drink!
August 25, 2011
Things I learned today from the Kevin & Bean Show
Brenda Song (23) is pregnant! The baby daddy is Trace Cyrus (guy who was in the band Metro Station with the song Shake It which kept playing constantly at the Teens Choice Awards when Miley was hosting). Whew, yeah and he's Miley's step brother. Or brother? Well, they're related. And Brenda Song is half Hmong and Thai. She no Korean.
I swear there was more valuable news that I learned today...
August 9, 2011
Let's Talk Toilet Seat Covers
Public restrooms are fine with me, but I fear for others. I fear for others who will share the restroom with me, at my time of NEED. But lucky for one of my co workers, she walked in at a good time. I was just changing.
And then a thought occurred to me. Once my butt cheeks kissed the toilet seat, the restroom door opened, then I heard foot steps, then the stall door opened next to me, then the sound of crumbling paper. Ahh, the toilet seat cover. I realized that I have not done that. It isn't intuitive for me to do so. Am I being a nasty girl? I sometimes don't wash my apples before I eat them. When cupcake crumbles fall on the table, I lick my index finger and dab the delicious pieces up and into my mouth. Heck, I can say that I don't shower daily (8 days was my limit, oh the Woodsey challenge). When I simply must go, I go. I'm not patient enough to find the thin opening and pull it away. It's almost like getting that one thin slice of rice paper from a family of rice papers for my Korean BBQ. I end up picking two pieces and they rip, making them useless for my wrap. The topic of food and lavatory always seem to go hand in hand during a conversation. Anyways, after taking the toilet seat covers out, you then have to place them on the toilet seat, which I think needs to be done strategically. It has to be centered so it won't fall into the toilet. It's really disgusting. I'm imagining the minutiae of these private moments between you and your bowel movements in my head, and I feel awful for the toilet seat cover. Not only do they have to deal with our butts on their faces, they're the first to come in contact with the cumulation of your poor food intake. They begin their life neatly tucked in the container with their other look alike friends. When they are chosen, they feel joyous, free, for a second until they're forced to cohabit with a thermoplastic friend who doesn't like to travel. Once they become acquianted, a third party comes in, forcing a quick (hopefully) ménage à trois of sorts. And how are they thanked? They're flushed down the toilet with the rest of them. The end.
Note though, I do use toilet seat covers, sparingly, when the restroom is disgusting. But if you're in a clean public restroom, like your work restroom, think about that. Think about the life of the toilet seat cover. Is it worth it?
And then a thought occurred to me. Once my butt cheeks kissed the toilet seat, the restroom door opened, then I heard foot steps, then the stall door opened next to me, then the sound of crumbling paper. Ahh, the toilet seat cover. I realized that I have not done that. It isn't intuitive for me to do so. Am I being a nasty girl? I sometimes don't wash my apples before I eat them. When cupcake crumbles fall on the table, I lick my index finger and dab the delicious pieces up and into my mouth. Heck, I can say that I don't shower daily (8 days was my limit, oh the Woodsey challenge). When I simply must go, I go. I'm not patient enough to find the thin opening and pull it away. It's almost like getting that one thin slice of rice paper from a family of rice papers for my Korean BBQ. I end up picking two pieces and they rip, making them useless for my wrap. The topic of food and lavatory always seem to go hand in hand during a conversation. Anyways, after taking the toilet seat covers out, you then have to place them on the toilet seat, which I think needs to be done strategically. It has to be centered so it won't fall into the toilet. It's really disgusting. I'm imagining the minutiae of these private moments between you and your bowel movements in my head, and I feel awful for the toilet seat cover. Not only do they have to deal with our butts on their faces, they're the first to come in contact with the cumulation of your poor food intake. They begin their life neatly tucked in the container with their other look alike friends. When they are chosen, they feel joyous, free, for a second until they're forced to cohabit with a thermoplastic friend who doesn't like to travel. Once they become acquianted, a third party comes in, forcing a quick (hopefully) ménage à trois of sorts. And how are they thanked? They're flushed down the toilet with the rest of them. The end.
Note though, I do use toilet seat covers, sparingly, when the restroom is disgusting. But if you're in a clean public restroom, like your work restroom, think about that. Think about the life of the toilet seat cover. Is it worth it?
August 8, 2011
Rice and water and words
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| September 4, 2011 Seoul, Korea |
Being minus one here means I'm in this room alone. The people on my screen are fascinating; it's a side I never get to see. Millions are sharing without knowing. I know so much about you, yet I've never even met you. I don't think people could have said this a few years ago. I know so much about you - your thoughts, your interests, your philosophies on life, your ways - without ever having a face to face conversation with you. You take what you can, and others will take the rest.
I wouldn't feed this rice to you if you begged me.
Create something, and add value to your days. It's been too long, sitting here, watching others sparkle, sparkle while I dust away.
Re-locate?
Chaptalize: to increase the alcohol in a wine by adding sugar.
WOW!
August 5, 2011
Mon, Tues, Wed, Thurs, Fri, Sat, Sun
When Friday comes around, I always want to play a song to celebrate. But resorting to Rebecca Black's Friday (i couldn't find the original video, way too many parodies and remakes) ends up ruining my Friday. I tried thinking of other songs with this Friday theme on my own, without the help of google. Katy Perry's Last Friday Night obviously was the second contender. But that isn't fair because her and Black are homies (watch her video, she makes an important cameo). I started thinking... I get paid on Fridays! That idea led me to my second favorite boy bands of the late 90's: Nsync! Their song Just Got Paid sprinkles in Friday (Just got paid, Friday night, Party hoppin', feelin right). But no, not good enough.
Then, lo and beyond, it came to me! THE CURE! Friday, I'm In Love. How could I have not thought of that!? I decided to take a look at the lyrics, and oh my lanta, it's brilliant. It does what Rebecca couldn't do: brilliantly educated me in the days of the week. Take a look:
Yesterday was Thursday, Thursday
Today i-is Friday, Friday (Partyin')
We-we-we so excited
We so excited
We gonna have a ball today
Tomorrow is Saturday
And Sunday comes after... wardsI don't want this weekend to end
I really had to google the lyrics. Amazing stuff. But, how dare she leave out Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday? These days are necessary for Thursday to happen, which leads to Friday, then leads to the weekend! Really now. How dare they leave out the middle children. But now take a look at this:
I don't care if Monday's blue
Tuesday's gray and Wednesday too
Thursday I don't care about you
It's Friday, I'm in love
Monday you can fall apart
Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart
Oh, Thursday doesn't even start
It's Friday I'm in love
Saturday, wait
And Sunday always comes too late
But Friday, never hesitate...
I don't care if Mondays black
Tuesday, Wednesday - heart attack
Thursday, never looking back
It's Friday, I'm in love
Monday, you can hold your head
Tuesday, Wednesday stay in bed
Or Thursday - watch the walls instead
It's Friday, I'm in love
Saturday, wait
And Sunday always comes too late
But Friday, never hesitate...
Repetition is key, my friends. Every line has a day in it. Every day is equally represented! This is pure music genius. I feel the love for every day of the week here, and they are in order! Now this is what I'd let my kids listen to if they sadly can never ingrain the days in their heads. This will make it easier.
So what did you get away from this? That Hong needs a life.
Then, lo and beyond, it came to me! THE CURE! Friday, I'm In Love. How could I have not thought of that!? I decided to take a look at the lyrics, and oh my lanta, it's brilliant. It does what Rebecca couldn't do: brilliantly educated me in the days of the week. Take a look:
Yesterday was Thursday, Thursday
Today i-is Friday, Friday (Partyin')
We-we-we so excited
We so excited
We gonna have a ball today
Tomorrow is Saturday
And Sunday comes after... wardsI don't want this weekend to end
I really had to google the lyrics. Amazing stuff. But, how dare she leave out Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday? These days are necessary for Thursday to happen, which leads to Friday, then leads to the weekend! Really now. How dare they leave out the middle children. But now take a look at this:
I don't care if Monday's blue
Tuesday's gray and Wednesday too
Thursday I don't care about you
It's Friday, I'm in love
Monday you can fall apart
Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart
Oh, Thursday doesn't even start
It's Friday I'm in love
Saturday, wait
And Sunday always comes too late
But Friday, never hesitate...
I don't care if Mondays black
Tuesday, Wednesday - heart attack
Thursday, never looking back
It's Friday, I'm in love
Monday, you can hold your head
Tuesday, Wednesday stay in bed
Or Thursday - watch the walls instead
It's Friday, I'm in love
Saturday, wait
And Sunday always comes too late
But Friday, never hesitate...
Repetition is key, my friends. Every line has a day in it. Every day is equally represented! This is pure music genius. I feel the love for every day of the week here, and they are in order! Now this is what I'd let my kids listen to if they sadly can never ingrain the days in their heads. This will make it easier.
So what did you get away from this? That Hong needs a life.
August 1, 2011
Boys suck
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| I found these photos (taken Feb 2010 I believe) from my Canon Rebel XS/2010 file. I miss that little guy. |
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