Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Make it stop

There is perpetual dull ache that never seems to subside. It is there when she opens her eyes in the morning and there as she falls asleep at night. It is palpable every second of every hour of every day.

No it's not angst or depression. It's caffeine withdrawal.

Yellow Gal is trying to wean herself off of her Starbucks addiction. But it hurts. It hurts so much.

Monday, August 29, 2005


Yellow Gal just came back from a not-good date. It wasn't "bad" b/c no plates were broken, no tears were shed, and no one was slapped. However it was a very enlightening experience, one that inspires Yellow Gal to indulge in more lists.

Some things a guy should not do on a first date (i.e., ways to ensure no second date):

1) Make a phone call on one's cell phone during the meal.
2) Talk to other people for extremely long periods of time without acknowledging the date nor introducing her.
3) Push gooey food onto the fork with one's fingers and hold the food onto the fork until one slurps it all into one's mouth.
4) Talk about one's dog's case of the runs and methods of getting rid of dog-runs. At least wait until the meal is over.

Some things a girl ought not do on a first date (i.e., ways to ensure no second date):

1) Yawn visibly and audibly.
2) Avoid all eye contact and instead appear to be mesmerized by the nearest wall.
3) Respond to everything with "uh huh" and "wow, really?" Then look back at the wall.
4) Refrain from initiating any conversation. Remain mute and appear slightly afraid.

Yellow Gal has added to her dating arsenal a seemingly fail-safe way to ensure no requests for a second date. The Quest for Mr. Right continues...

Sunday, August 28, 2005

On picking up women

Below are some things men should NOT do when attempting to pick up women. In no particular order, they are:

1) Reciting one's resume. A list of one's Ivy League bachelor/masters/doctorate degrees is both unimpressive and sleep-inducing.

2) Discussing at length all the lives one has saved, the salary one earns, or the car one drives. Self-adulation is seldom arousing.

3) Continuing to try to kiss or grope her after she has repeatedly said "no." She is not being coy or playing hard to get. She really does not want to be kissed or groped.

4) Insinuating in any way of having sex with her, especially that night.

5) Focusing the entire conversation on one's greatness while ignoring the woman, except to wink at her or call her "baby." The benefit of reciting one's vast accomplishments in life does NOT outweigh the benefit of engaging the woman in a conversation and getting to know her.

6) Calling her phone five to six times within 24 hours of receiving her phone number.

7) Trying to guilt her into dating you by begging, self-deprecation, or calling her a stuck-up bitch. Newsflash: Manipulating or emotionally blackmailing a woman to date you = Pathetic. Moreover, this encourages an uninterested woman to string the man along rather than being honest and forthright.

.... There are many more, but these seven are particularly salient in Yellow Gal's mind.

(And yes, Yellow Gal acknowledges that gals can be just as nutty and silly as guys.)

Saturday, August 27, 2005

It's that time

One knows it's near that time of the month when one begins to tear up when the people at Starbucks forget her coffee order and everyone else gets their coffee before she does.

Yellow Gal wonders when she will no longer be able to blame her irrational behavior on a cycle rather than her personality.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

Back home

Yellow Gal is back in her studio in Big Big City.

It is very silent. There are no Korean soap operas in the background. No rented DVDs of "24." No bickering over who forgot to push the button of the rice pot. No pots clanging or banging screen doors. Just the soft humming of the refridgerator and the occasional siren from the streets below.

Today Yellow Gal left her hometown to return to the BBC. Her home was a house in the suburbs where one is deafened by the chirping of birds in the morning and the chirping of crickets at night. There are moths fluttering by lamps, itching to get past the screen door, sputtering lawnmowers, and barking dogs.

Here though, outside her window, the skyscrapers loom and glitter in the dark. It is a Wednesday night. And it is very quiet, save for the soft pattering of typing on a keyboard.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

First Kiss

Yellow Gal remembers her first "real" kiss. It was quite memorable but for all the wrong reasons.

She was at the mall with two girlfriends and him. Girlfriend #1's mom drove up to the curb to pick up the three girls. Before parting, Yellow Gal thought it would be nice to peck him good bye. Not quite a millisecond peck, but perhaps a lingering, tender kiss, like Wesley and Buttercup. After all, they were in public and #1's mom awaited them in a running sedan.

She leaned forward, closed her eyes, and soon felt his warm lips against hers. Suddenly his probing tongue poked through her pursed lips and made itself very comfortable inside her mouth, introducing itself to her molars, the roof of her mouth, and the back of her throat.

It was the longest eight seconds of her life.

When he finally pulled away, she awkwardly smiled a goodbye and hopped into the car. It was their first and last kiss. She broke up with him less than a week later.

The reason Yellow Gal is reliving this arguably traumatizing incident is that she bumped into her First Kiss the other day.

She was walking with her old high school friend in their hometown, when they saw him from a distance. As they neared him, he snapped shut his cell phone and said "hi." He then cheerfully chatted with her friend whilst ignoring Yellow Gal. Yellow Gal suspected that First Kiss was testing to see how long he could chat with Yellow Gal's friend without having to acknowledge Yellow Gal. Finally, Friend couldn't take it anymore and said, "First Kiss, you remember..." and pointed to Yellow Gal, who stood there, smiling expectantly. First Kiss replied, "Yes. Yellow Gal." Then he turned back to Friend and commenced cheerful chatting.

After they parted ways, Friend and Yellow Gal compared notes. Friend guessed the reason for his odd behavior was his "new" physique. His six-pack seemed to have been replaced by a one-gallon. His chiseled cheekbones were now soft and doughy. But everyone gained weight after high school. Moreover, they had dated for a measly week over a decade ago and shared no more than one kiss.

Very strange behavior. Yet altogether, amusing. Does anyone ever forget their first kiss?

Monday, August 22, 2005

Jay Part I

Once upon a time, there was a strange boy. He was the youngest of three children. He was bright and did quite well in school, and grew up to be a very promising, enterprising young man.

Unfortunately, the boy's first true love--his first real relationship--cheated on him. He forgave her, and she cheated on him again. Then she dumped him.

Ever since then, the boy has never quite at ease with his love life. In every subsequent romantic relationship, he feels compelled to monitor what his girlfriend does. And should she do anything resembling any solitary time with another boy, the strange boy becomes very upset and throws an adult version of a temper tantrum. Also, while in any relationship, the strange boy distances himself from all female friends so as to avoid any and all impropriety that arises from having friendships with the opposite sex.

However, when his romantic relationships inevitably fall apart, the boy strangely rekindles his friendships with his female friends.

The pain of his first relationship still palpable, the boy discovers a strange yet potent source of solace: the affection of women. This affection takes two mutually exclusive forms: (1) having a girlfriend, or (2) having a gaggle of female friends with whom he would not mind having sex. This affection is his secret addiction, an intolerable pang that cannot be appeased without the female voice and touch. It is a continual, throbbing ache that pulses through his veins and permeates every fiber of his being.

Right now, he is in form 2. The boy attempts to maintain as many sexually attractive female friends at the same time, a wondrous juggling act, hoping that one of the balls will land in his bed. The balls must be kept separate at all times, so that he does not appear to be superficial or whorish, yet hazily visible to one another to hint how utterly desirable he is and how competitive it is to be juggled.

What will become of the boy? Will he ever find happiness? Will he realize how transparent he is to all the juggled females? Is the utterly meaningless and empty existence a chosen destiny, much like the man who ties his own noose? Or is it a veil soon to be lifted in the not too distant future?

Only time will tell. Until then, the world shall await with bated breath the finale of this boy's story, a manchild who entertains the world and himself with a magnificent charade of love, sex, and addiction.

To be continued...

Friday, August 19, 2005

Potter saves the day

Yellow Gal is slightly embarrassed about her previous two rants. Yet she won't delete them, b/c it's all true damnit. She has been in a bit of a rut lately.

The past few nights, she has been visiting her family in her childhood home. She perused the books in her old room, looking for something to cheer her up. Her collection included: "The Trial," by Kafka, "Life of a Slave Girl," "The Marx-Engels Reader," "Ethan Frome," a few books by James Joyce, and a book about the Japanese internment camps, to name a few.

Not exactly the most cheerful collection.

She was on the phone with a friend, bemoaning her depressing book collection, when he suggested Harry Potter. "Hmm..." she thought as she wandered to her brother's room. The first three volumes sat on his book case in their bright colors. She was just going to take them but decided to seek his permission first.

She began reading the first one last night before going to bed. She was concerned that since she had already seen the movie and had seen/heard/read all the Harry Potter hype, she may not be as entertained.

Which would put her in a worse mood.

But, as many had told her, it was a rather quick read. Even though she knew what was going to happen next, the story still managed to draw her in. A very entertaining read. She hopes to finish all three before she returns to crime-ridden Big Big City on Wednesday.

Yellow Gal finds it very interesting yet so true: a good book, no matter the intended age of the reader, will always be a good book.

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

Defending the fat

It is insidious. It is subtle. But it is unmistakable. Every time Yellow Gal sees a Certain Friend, the Certain Friend invariably remarks on Yellow Gal's weight. It is never as blatant as "You are a fat tub of lard." Yet it is very cleverly hidden in suggestive adjectives, well-crafted sentences, and amused expressions. Certain Friend is perhaps 80-90 pounds, a probable size 0, while Yellow Gal is an obese size 4.

For example, if Yellow Gal stops wearing a certain top, Certain Friend will inquire, "Oh did it get too small for you?" Or if Yellow Gal is wearing the same sweater as a six-foot, 200 pound guy, Certain Friend will ask, "Are you guys wearing the same size?"

Yellow Gal is seeing Certain Friend this weekend. She is almost certain that Certain Friend will make a weight-related comment. Yellow Gal plans on responding to Certain Friend's fat-comment, "It's so interesting how every time I see you, you make some comment about my weight." Then if she's especially irritated, Yellow Gal will add, "I understand that because I am over 100 pounds, I am a tub of lard. Your continual comments to me have clearly conveyed that belief. There is therefore no need to remind me every single time you see me. I get it. Thanks so much for bringing the matter to my attention." Insert the necessary chuckle to alleviate any tension the remarks may induce.

Sound like a plan.

Gratuitous superiority

Yellow Gal hasn't posted in a really long time. In the last few days, she moved from Medium City to Big City, almost became homeless, scrubbed her old apartment at the mercy of a relentlessly clean landlord with a variety of cleaners and sponges (including an industrial cleaner that seared her eyes, skin and throat, and a toothbrush) and was subsequently robbed on the train on the way to the Big City airport. Robbers took Yellow Gal's wallet and proceeded to shop with her Discover Card at various stores, including a jewelry store.

Yellow Gal becomes incensed when other people complain to her about the wrong shade of yellow their post-its are or how their 9 karat diamond is actually 8.9 karats. First, such complaints are empirically, ontologically trivial. Second, they are being insensitive. Third, they make anyone whose problems are bigger than theirs (which is 99.9999% of the world population) feel shittier. It is perhaps akin to someone with a sprained ankle complaining how shitty his life is to a quadriplegic. To the quadriplegic, if a sprained ankled life is shitty, then what is the life of a quadriplegic?

Yet at the same time, Yellow Gal feels smugly superior because these imbeciles will never be able to appreciate what they have nor can they ever be happy because they will always find something to complain about. Yellow Gal, all the while, remains resilient and rolls with the punches. She sits squarely on her high horse and watches as her counterparts wail and flail in their cesspool of self-induced self-pity and hypochondriacal misery.

It is all very amusing. She just hopes she doesn't fall in.

Saturday, August 06, 2005

Last night

Yellow Gal had a series of odd dreams, two of which she remembers. The one she believes to be the earlier one was sort of a nightmare, one from which she awoke terrified and in a sweat (she thought that only happened in movies).

She was in her studio apartment, where she lives now, and looked out her peephole. Someone or something very evil was outside her door in the hallway, facing sideways. The evil thing looked like a person, but Yellow Gal could discern no flesh, no skin. There was just a hat and papers and clothing. Yellow Gal was curious about the evil thing and so kept staring, knowing full well that the evil entity would eventually be able to sense her presence. And it did. The evil entity then turned toward Yellow Gal's peephole. She could feel the evil emanating from the entity--an indescribable feeling of horror.

Yellow Gal then started murmuring prayers to God and Jesus and the Holy Spirit (she hadn't been to church since 1997). For a while, the power of good was able to ward off the evil of the entity. But good faded and the entity did not retreat. The entity began to read her mind, know her fears, and use them to torture her.

Yellow Gal then ran into her bathroom, and closed the door, and she feared the entity would enter her apartment and stand right outside her bathroom door. For some odd reason, there was a hose and a faucet in the middle of her bathroom. It turned on, and she got soaked. When she called upon the Trinity, she was able to turn it off. She clamped onto the faucet to keep it off, and could feel the power of the evil entity literally turning the faucet wheel on.

Yellow Gal remembers seeing a piece of paper by the sink, and scrawled on it were questions that the entity was asking her. "Do you ever fear ___?" "At night, does it frighten you when ___?" They were specific questions, but Yellow Gal can't remember.

And then Yellow Gal woke up.

The second dream Yellow Gal had was about her father. He was alive, and that whole thing about his death had been a ghastly mistake. They misdiagnosed his death. She saw him walking with her family. She saw him alive. He was alive after all.

But then in her dream, Yellow Gal started thinking. She remembered his funeral, the casket--how could they fake that? How could that be a medical misdiagnosis? She remembered touching his cold hand at his wake, and that certainly couldn't be faked. As soon as the semblance of logic and reality began to unravel the dream, she slipped into another dream.

Friday, August 05, 2005

Ugly guys

Yellow Gal has nothing against ugly guys. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, beauty is only skin deep, it's what's inside that counts, et cetera.

What Yellow Gal finds utterly fascinating is when ugly guys complain about ugly girls. Yellow Gal recalls a day back when she was in school. She is chatting with three guys. Instead of referring to these guys as Ugly Guy #1, Ugly Guy #2, and Normal Guy, Yellow Gal will call them Fatty, Crater Face, and Norm.

Norm is telling the group how he was walking with a cup of coffee in his hands, and he saw a girl so beautiful, he tripped and spilled coffee all over himself. All are amused.

Then Crater Face replies, "Well it certainly wasn't someone in this school because there are no beautiful girls in this school."

Yellow Gal blinks.

Then Fatty chimes in, "Yeah man, there are no hot girls in this school whatsoever."

Then Fatty turns to Yellow Gal, holds up his hand, and, rather than saying "present company excluded," says, "No offense."

Yellow Gal blinks again.

For the next ten minutes, Crater Face and Fatty bemoan the utter dearth of beauty in school, insterspersed with "yeah, man" and "yeah." Yellow Gal looks at Fatty's ample love handles and three chins. She then looks at Crater Face. She stops counting his craters at 283.

Yellow Gal is not prone to conceit or self-flattery. But she knows she is cute, and undoubtedly ten times more attractive than Crater Face and Fatty (if not by virtue of having no craters and no more than one chin). It made her wonder. This is not the first time that utterly repulsive, grotesque abominations of nature have criticized women's appearances. Yellow Gal surmised that this must be the eighth wonder of the world.

She further pondered the logic of Fatty and Crater Face. Suppose that the school were filled with beautiful women resembling Catherine Zeta Jones and Heidi Klum. Do Crater Face and Fatty honestly believe that these women would actually like them, if not for their stunning craters and chins, then for their oh-so charming personalities?

Then she realized, hideously deformed men are people too. Why should they be denied the joys of being superficial and hypocritical?

Thursday, August 04, 2005

Validate me please

Yellow Gal was having a telephone conversation with Friend this morning. Friend was asking for "advice" on whether he handled a certain situation correctly. She perfunctorily listened, analyzed, and assured Friend that he certainly handled the situation correctly. Friend paused, and again asked Yellow Gal if there was anything he hadn't thought of, if he had done everything right.

Yellow Gal thought, maybe she wasn't thinking hard enough. So she tried to think of possible conflicts, unforeseen conditions, or ideas that perhaps Friend hadn't thought of. When she mentioned these to Friend, he became confused and slightly annoyed. Yellow Gal was confused as well.

After two hours of going back and forth, Yellow Gal finally figured it out. What Friend really wanted wasn't "advice." Friend really wanted:

(1) to hear someone echo back to him that Friend was right.
Anytime Yellow Gal mentioned anything remotely contrary to his mode of thought or action, Friend would bristle and argue. When Yellow Gal regurgitated his mode of thought and action and completely shed off any independent, incongruous thought, Friend became appeased.

(2) to gloat about the subject-matter of his "request for advice" and be praised.
Friend's situation was certainly a new development. Yellow Gal originally approached his request for advice as just that--a request for advice. Friend seemed to get frustrated and kept repeating his question. When Yellow Gal began to talk about the subject-matter of the situation, gush over how wonderful it all was, and sufficiently "ooh"-ed and "aah"-ed, Friend became appeased.

Yellow Gal wondered, Why did Friend have to resort to this roundabout way of "asking for advice"? It would have saved both Yellow Gal and Friend two hours of confusion and frustration had Friend simply come out and said "Validate me please."

Tuesday, August 02, 2005


This is what a random man said to Yellow Gal as she walked by him this afternoon. Random Man's staggering logic led him to believe that if a gal is yellow, she must be Japanese and Japanese-speaking at that. Moreover, saying "konichiwa" at her will somehow render an expected response, such as fluttering her black eyelashes, performing a delicate fan dance, or disrobing her kimono.

Yellow Gal acknowledges the possibility that Random Man genuinely believed that Yellow Gal's native language was Japanese and he wished to communicate with her with a harmless greeting in her native tongue. Yellow Gal however suspects that Random Man would not have said "Konichiwa" to a Yellow Guy. But this is just speculation.

Yellow Gal wonders what all the Random Men of the world expect when, upon seeing yellow gals, they say things like "China doll," "Me so horny," and "Sucky sucky." These men seem to lack the requisite charm to woo yellow gals, spend too much time masturbating to fetishist pornos from the 80s, and/or genuinely enjoy being racially offensive.

Yellow Gal is of course used to all these things. She merely found it amusing if not sad that in 2005 in what is known as a "liberal" town, silly Random Man made a silly random comment.
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