As of late, I’ve been receiving quite a few comments about my body shape. For some reason, they also seem to be somewhat contradictory (one person, Sappy Vietnamese Girl, says I have a beer belly, while another, Sweaty Asian Wrestler, says that it looks as if I’ve lost weight). Maybe it’s the worst of both worlds, but go figure. More on this later.
Anyway, on a somewhat related note (read: completely unrelated), if you’ve been tracking the recent changes in my hair, you might notice that in addition to a somewhat neatly buzzed head, I have a trio of awkward unparallel racing stripes shaved into my head. I went to Oakley’s right before break to get a hair cut. I got a sort-of-buzz. At the end, the barber told me that my eyebrows were too thick and he was going to trim them. Fine, I thought. Free eyebrow trim (it looks the same). Somehow, I got the brilliant idea to get a cut on my eyebrow, much in the same way that Omarion has one (my knowledge of him is limited to my limited knowledge of ABDC). Anyway, I ask the barber if I were to get one — “No. It would look bad.”
“But…IF I were to get one, how long would it take to grow back?”
“Oh..a month. No, no. It would look bad.”
Wait a minute…aren’t I the customer? Doesn’t the fact that I’m PAYING you mean that you should at least consider it? Meh..
“Alright nevermind. Can I get racing stripes?”
“You know, like a cut on the side of my head?”
“No!!!!! It looks bad. I won’t do it.”
This goes on for a little bit until finally, he relents…but I have to do it myself because he refuses to do it. So he hands me the razor, and essentially, I’m paying to cut my own hair. Fantastic. I understand your concern, Mr. Italian Barber, but doesn’t the fact that I’m paying you mean that I implicitly recognize my own lack of ability at hair cutting and an implicit recognition of your skills as a hair stylist, as empirically evidenced by your barber license? Anyway, with a shaky hand, I manage to make a very shallow, barely visible cut in my hair. The barber snatches the razor away and breathes a seeming sigh of relief. I end up paying him for the haircut and go home…where I end up using my shaving razor to cut two more into my noggin. Apparently I have bad depth perception when I look in the mirror too, because not only are the lines not parallel, but they’re of different widths. To add insult to insult, when I got home, my parents made fun of me along with all the old people at church.
So back to eating. I’ve been eating a ridiculous amount of food (read: ice cream) recently. There’s this place called the Boiling Crab in San Jose, but it should be called Boiling Crap instead. Well, actually, I wouldn’t know because I haven’t tasted the food, but maybe it should be called Potentially Horribly Overhyped Crap. Stanley, Jimmy, and I drive all the way back to Evergreen to experience some Cajun crab legs, oysters, and whatever else you find in the pelagic zones. Anyway, I heard a lot of good things about this place, and I was so excited to finally be able to try it (screw my seafood allergy) that I even called Nhi and left her a message that I was going. The moment we pulled in, I could tell it was going to be a disaster.
1. Everyone was dressed like they were going clubbing. And everyone was Vietnamese. It brought back memories of excessive eyeliner, ao dais (sp?), and being hit on by a fat gay man. We thought we were underdressed…until we actually went inside and saw that they were handing out bibs because of all the potential crab juices (ew) that could splash on you. Iiiiiiinteresting.
2. There was a massive throng of people outside, so massive that they actually had crowd control from SJPD. WTF!!!! SJPD? It’s not a damn concert, people! So it’s around 7 pm, and we go inside. Finally, some dude comes to the host podium (what is the name for this?) and he says something to the extent of “if you can’t get seated before the kitchen closes at 10, then you can’t eat”.
“Uh..so how long is the wait?”
“3 hours.” He says this in probably the most nonchalant manner ever, like he’s telling me that he pooped today. 3 hours?! I’ve never waited more than ONE HOUR to get seated, but really? Wow. I don’t know. It was bizarre. Maybe all the Vietnamese people went clubbing after a nice messy crab splurge or something.
So what do three guys do when their seafood third wheel date is ruined? Go to Red Robin and eat their sorrows away, of course! I only had one of the burgers and some garlic fries, but I didn’t know that in all, it came out to around 2500 calories. Ah, hell, why stop there though? So we went to Target, bought one of those cheap gallons of ice cream. All in all, I think I ate 4000 calories that day. I went to bed thinking that I was going to eat at Fresh Choice only the next day.
The day after, I decided to wander around the Bay Area for a couple days. I took the BART up to visit Nicole in Oakland first. There were a lot of confusing-ass one way streets, but her apartment was nice. Most memorable thing (aside from forcing Nicole to watch Apollo’s and my feature-length film) was probably Nicole telling me about all of her friends so that I could stalk them or something. Or maybe only the hot ones. I even took notes:
7th floor – scott (math, udub, seattle, boobs), geoff (middle school history, udub, seattle, dates jess, boobs)
3rd floor – dan (just went to berk on a date and will bone out if he doesn’t like the date, teaches middle school science), Jacob (caught masturbating to a priest, “baits”, teaches middle school special ed)
2nd floor – Nicole (blah), jackie (sleeping, teaches hs bio, from ny, balloon is for her), Meghan (swimmer from Amherst, really fast or something, teaches middle school history)
I think I got it in the end.
After that, it was off to Emeryville to visit Caroline at Pixar. OMG IT WAS AMAZING. I went there and saw (CENSORED) (CENSORED) (CENSORED). Damn non-disclosure agreement. We meet up with one of my Berkeley friends and go to Fenton’s (home of the Fenton’s 3 pound ice cream challenge). I finished the challenge last time I went (barely), and out of a morbid (ly obese) curiosity, asked the guy how many calories were in it. (Hint: it’s about the same as my entire DAY’s intake on Boiling Crab Fail Day) Woot. To make myself feel better, I bought a quart and ate half of it. I’m getting too fat.
And here I am today, in San Francisco, at Borders, updating the Hedgeblog. END.