Monthly Archives: July 2009

President Minna Hong’s Platform

j0439251Shoes.  Platform shoes.  I love ’em.  They give me a few inches of height without being as dangerous for me as stilettos.  They give me the wiggle without endangering my running ability.  They add sass to my walk and a touch of jaunt to my jiggle.

Oh, shit.  Sorry.  That was a pleasant digression, but not the point of this entry.  First of all, I got a comment from a birfer going by the name of “Jack”.  I am not publishing the comment because then the nutjob will have limitless access to commenting on my blog, and I don’t want that.  Instead, I will produce it here so I can point at, laugh at, and mock it:

The time lines, places, actions, motives, when analyzed, support, and are consistent with, what is the answer to the Obama birth puzzle:

Obama’s grandmother is his mother and his mother is his sister.

Think about it. Review all the facts and claims.

My dear, dear commenters.  Let’s all turn to Jack and laugh uproariously in his face.  I mean, I thought I had heard it all with this birfer shit, but this, this just takes the fucking cake.  Dude, if you’re a parody troll, then my hat is off to you because this is fucking brilliant in its lunacy.  It pushes aside the whole Obama’s father is a Kenyan who diabolically plotted to impregnate a white woman in Kenya before arranging for Barack Obama’s fake birth announcement to be placed in the Hawaiian papers so that forty-plus years later, Barack Obama could hoodwink all of America and become President of the United States.  It doesn’t even bother to address the whole natural-born citizen versus naturalized citizen debate that is raging in the birfer world.  Oh, no, this comment is even crazier than all that.

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My Fellow Americans

harley uncle samMy fellow Americans.  Today, I sit proudly before you in order to announce my candidacy for the 2016 presidential race (I am assuming that President Obama will win his reelection campaign in 2012).  Why am I announcing my candidacy so early?  Because I have done jackshit in politics, so I gotta start kissing ass now!

What?  Why am I running?  Well, I’m glad you asked.  Sit down.  It’s gonna take awhile.

Back when I first could vote (1992), I naively believed that the government was for the people, of the people, and by the people.  I know!  I can only shake my head in bemusement at how callow I was in my youth.  I didn’t vote that year because I was out of the country, so I cast my first vote for president in 1996.  By then, I was a bit more jaded.  I wasn’t pleased with the two-party system we have, so I voted for Nader (after assuring that Clinton was reelected).  I wanted to make a statement, but I was also pragmatic.  It’s the same with the last local Senate race.  I wanted to vote for Dean Barkley, the Independent Party candidate, but I knew the race was going to be close (though, not as close as it turned out to be.  I don’t think anyone foresaw that, except, perhaps, for Nate Silver), so I voted for Al Franken.    Ahem.  Excuse me.  SENATOR AL FRANKEN, bitchez!

Anyhoo, I was discouraged because it seemed that politicians cared more about politics than they did about their constituents.  Call me thick, but I truly believed that politicians should serve the people who elected them.  I know, I know.  I was so young and beautiful then!

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One Hour

hungry hippoOne hour.  That’s all it took before I felt like a big, ugly oaf.   That is when my mom brought out the clothes she had brought from Taiwan for me.  This year, the fashion over there is skinny pants coupled with long, slim shirts.  Now, even in my best of times, that is not a look that works for me because I have BOOBS and HIPS which most women over the age of twelve have.  Well, except in Taiwan, apparently.

I eyed the pants, and I knew immediately, they wouldn’t fit.  I tried them on, anyway, and guess what?  They didn’t fucking fit.  Not even close.  I sighed as I yanked them off before trying on the shirts.  The first one gathered at the waist and had horizontal stripes.  I looked hideous.  The second one was more forgiving with a formless waist and zebras.  I like zebras.  Still, I looked huge.   I turned away from the mirror in despair.

It didn’t help that my mom modeled her new outfits for me.  She’s been fanatical about losing weight for the past year or so, and she looks great.  She was skinny to begin with (except for her stomach), and now, she’s tiny.  Yet, she was nattering on about wanting to lose five more pounds.  She’s wanted to lose five more pounds for as long as I can remember.   It’s not for health–that’s for sure.  Then, she tried on the pants she had bought for me and went on and on about how big they were on her.  Granted, she’s 5’2″, and I’m 5’6″, but I still felt gargantuan next to her.  If she thinks she needs to lose five pounds in order to be presentable, then what the fuck does she think about me?

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What Mainstream?

cute Asian girlCome take a trip down memory lane with me.  No, you don’t have a choice (except to not read this entry).  It’s like when your friends plunk you down on their couch and make you watch the videos from their family vacation.  No matter how much you protest, you know you’re sunk.  In other words, the sooner you shut up and just do as you’re told, the sooner it will be over.

When I was a little girl, I never did ordinary girl things.  My mom dressed me in dresses she made for me, and I hated it.   I never played with the big doll someone gave me, except to strip her naked.

OT:  Larry O’ is hosting Countdown tonight, and I’m lusting freely over his caustic wit and his wry smirk.  However, he is talking about the idiot ex-governor, Sarah Palin, which is a bit of a lust-killer.  Idiocy and vapidness have never turned me on.  Oooh, Shannyn Moore, a progressive blogger from Alaska–she’s hot.  I love her voice.

Ahem.  Back to my naked dolls.  That was a theme in my childhood–naked dolls.  I had a few Barbies, an Oscar Goldman action figure with an exploding briefcase (the one I had, the briefcase, that is, was busted), and a Dorothy Hamill doll.  They were all given to me by someone outside the family.  All I did was chop off the hair of the girls, even Dorothy Hamill, color one of the Barbie doll’s hair black (presumably to match mine.  I had short hair back then), and make them all have sex together.  All of them.

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Splish Splash, I was Taking a Bath

CB101810No, I wasn’t.  I was actually cleaning my refrigerator, but that didn’t sound like a snappy title, so I didn’t use it.

I hate cleaning.  I hate in more than just about anything in the world.  I hate the fact that the minute you clean, you see a piece of dirt that you swear wasn’t there five seconds ago.  I hate it because there is no end result, except for cleanliness.  Ok, I gotta admit, it’s nice to have a clean house, but not nice enough to do it on a regular basis.

Once I clean, I turn into a fishwife, screeching, “Don’t fight there!  I just vacuumed the carpet!”, and I don’t have any damn children.  No, I just have two black-furred cats who think it’s the bestest thing in the world to fight ON MY CLEAN CARPET!  Then, they leave tufts of black fur on the beige carpet, and I have a conniption fit.  Why give myself that kind of stress?

Because, my mom is coming to visit.  I have to clean before she gets here.  Now, if I were smart, I would do a little at a time, but I’m not that kind of smart.  Besides, I work best under pressure, so I put it off until the last minute, and then I work straight through the nights to get it done.   Normally, my mom arrives at eleven at night.  She’s coming on Tuesday.  I thought that would give me Friday, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday to finish cleaning.  She called me to chat a few days ago, and she mentioned that she was arriving at six o’clock.  Huh, what?  Oh, ok.  I can do six.   Sure, it cuts off a few hours of my cleaning time, but–what’s that?  Six in the fucking morning?  No, I don’t DO six in the morning, unless I am still up by that time.  She hastened to assure me that my brother would be picking her up.  He lives ten minutes from the airport, and he’s a morning person.  I informed her that he damn well better be picking her up (without the swearing, of course) because I don’t DO six in the morning!

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meWell, since I’m up when I don’t want to be (like that’s anything new), I thought I’d whip off an entry since I slacked off last night.  Then, I really must clean as we (by we, I mean I) are coming down to crunch time.  The score is tied, and with 5 seconds left, a good point guard knows to drive the lane, weave back and forth a few times, and then let the time expire.  Also.

Oh, sorry.  Just channeling my inner Sarah Palin in tribute to the soon-to-be-ex governor of Alaska who is going out with a three-day picnic party bashy thingie instead of, you know, actually, gosh, working because she’s mavericky like that.  Also.

As much as I loathe the woman (and believe me, I loathe her quite a bit), I have to admire her seemingly endless reservoir of unearned confidence.  I really want that, but without the narcisstic personality.   Hm.  I just realized that Palin reminds me of my father in some ways (charm, charisma, ability to sway people), but unlike her, he actually excels at being the head of something (in his case, an economic research institute in Taiwan).

Ahem.  I went waaaay around the bend on that one, but not really.  I want to talk about weight again, and because it’s my blog, I can!  God, I love being the mistress of my domain (name).  Yes, I’m a control freak.  What of it?

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Weight of the World

j0438884All right, mateys!  Up next is item number two on my list, losing weight.   You might want to put on your hip waders because it’s gonna get dirty and ugly up in here.  Why?  Because when I talk about weight issues, it ain’t pretty.  This time,  I’m looking at the issue of weight mostly from the viewpoint of auditioning, but as is always the case with this issue, I am sure I will veer into other territory.

I’m fat.  I’ve said it before, but I wanted to say it again.  Why?  Because I’m tired of shying away from it.  I have been skinny; I have been medium; I have been chubby; I have been fat.  Right now, I am the last.  I am uncomfortable with my weight, not only because of the health implications (though I have conflicting feelings about making weight the be-all, end-all when it comes to health), but because I don’t like the way I look.

Then again, I never do.  When I was my thinnest, I still thought I was fat and ugly.  Now, I no longer think I’m ugly (I don’t think I’m attractive, but I accept that others think I am), but I know I’m fat.  I have avoided looking into mirrors ever since I was seven.  Then, it was because I hated the fact that I didn’t have blond hair and blue eyes.   When I was that age, a woman once told me I had beautiful hair.  I remember thinking, “No, I don’t.  How can this ugly black hair be beautiful?  It’s not blond!”

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My New Life’s Resolution

j0341539All right.  Sit back, relax, grab a pop or a cup of coffee because this is gonna take some time.  Yesterday, I told you I found the meaning of MY life.  It has been a slow road, to be sure, but I have finally made it to this point.  A month ago, I outlined 7 goals in my life.  Here is that post.  At that time, I had listed them in no particular order.  Now, I will.

  1. Performing/writing.
  2. Losing fifty pounds.
  3. Being gainfully employed.
  4. Get into politics.

Different goals:

  1. Lots of really hot sex.
  2. Dating.*

Now, let’s break it down.

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I’m Back, Bitchez!

Margaret_Cho_2I’m back, bitchez!  Did you miss me?  What’s that, you say?  I wasn’t gone?  Yes, I was.  Didn’t you notice the sappy Minna hanging around for the past couple of days being all, you know, emotional and shit?  Well, I sent her to her room without supper, locked the door, and ate the fucking key.

I’m back.  The sarcastic, darkly humorous, sensual, lusty, grumpy, bawdy, bodacious, fucked-up, passionate, hedonistic, funny as all get out, snarky, Alan Rickman-loving (by the way, am I the only one amused by the fact that Alan Rickman is the biggest tag in my tag cloud?  Anyone?   Anyone?), snide, snippy, fiery, fierce, tattooed Minna is back with a mighty fucking vengeance.

You see, I realized something last night.  Yes, last night was when I was half-drunk, but I swear this isn’t the drink talking.  I mean, I have chewed over it ever since I thought of it, and I still find it a good realization, so it’s not just the bourbon.

You want to know what I realized?  Well, too bad.  I’m going to tell you, anyway.  Why?  Because it’s my blog, and I can cry if I want to.  Plus, since y’all are a big reason I made the realization, I figured I could at least do you the courtesy of telling you how you’ve helped me.  Ok.  Ready?  Here it is:

I have figured out the meaning of (my) life.  Yeah!  It only took me thirty-eight fucking years!  Boy, am I a slow learner.

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Soul Sister–A Hagiography

bestfriendsHave you ever met someone with whom you have such a strong connection, it doesn’t matter how much time passes, you always pick up where you left off once you’re together again?  I have met one such person, and what’s more, I’ve been fortunate enough to have her as my best friend for the last fifteen years, and I cannot imagine my life without her.

I went out with her tonight for some drinks, some smokes, some food, and some really good conversation.  I tried a new drink–bourbon and diet coke, and now I’m kinda drunk.  I’m such a lightweight.  That’s neither here nor there, though.

As I looked at Kiki, I marveled at how much our relationship has changed and grown over time.  I met her when I was a counselor of a day treeatment program for juvenile delinquents (“At-risk youth, Minna!”  I can hear Kiki’s voice in my head.  We’ve had that particular mock-argument countless times), and she was the administrative assistant.  We were the two youngest people working there, but we didn’t really have much interaction at first.  Then, the kids were doing a school newspaper, and one of them interviewed her.  He asked her what was one thing about herself that people would be surprised to find out.  She said that she had a tattoo.

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