Blog Archives

Just in case you didn’t believe I was an Asian woman…

Poof is constantly giving me shit for being Asian and being a terrible driver. Her purse always falls over in my car when I drive. Apparently, I’m just building upon the stereotype.

I’m really not that bad of a driver. Similarly, I’m not that bad at directions. But I’ve fucked up things enough on a few occasions that I don’t really help the stereotypes. Asian Women suck at driving, and all women suck at directions.


The very first time I drove to the D to see BabyDaddy was in 2007. Smart phones were not smart enough to have GPS on them. I did not have a functioning printer to get MapQuest. Thus, I went on BabyDaddy’s word that I was to exit the highway at the 11 mile road exit. Simple enough, right?

Look at exit 21 and exit 28. Do you see an issue?

My roommate and I were scoping out the signs looking for 11 mile. We hit exit 21.

“11 Mile!” I shout.

“We found it!” She shouts.

We’re so thrilled with ourselves. We haven’t gotten killed on our road trip to Detroit! We exit the highway and follow BabyDaddy’s instructions to his house…until we realize that this doesn’t look like the nice suburbia neighborhood that I remember.

I realize this when a purple car pulls up next to us at a red light. It had lights underneath it. It is bouncing. And the large men in the front seat are giving us the nod. One of them mentions to me to roll my window down.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be here,” I whisper.

“Do not. Look at them.” My roommate is staring straight ahead, eyes locked on the road.

We pull forward as the light turns green. I scramble for my phone and call TheCousin.

“We got off the highway and we don’t know where we are and there are scary people and BabyDaddy got me lost,” I tell him instead of a greeting.

TheCousin laughs at me and asks where we are. He says to pull over in a public location and that he’ll come find us and lead us to safety.

We hide out in a Wendy’s and eat frosty’s with the doors locked until he gets there. I jump out of the car and give him a huge hug.

He’s still laughing at me. “How the hell did you end up here?


It’s my birthday weekend. GoldDust and I have dressed up and are prepared to paint the town red. The destination? Royal Oak. I’ve never been out there before. I’m useless, direction-wise.

GoldDust is texting JukeBox. He’s asking where we’re going. She tells him the location, and he replies:

No one goes there.

We shrug this off, and park GoldDust’s rabbit. She pulls up the bar on her GPS and off we go. Her iPhone is telling us we’re only a couple blocks away, which seems okay to walk…says the two girls in five inch heels.

After walking awhile, the only thing I’m thinking of is to concentrate on walking and not falling. Eyes on the sidewalk. Nothing else matters except staying upright. Normally, I’m intoxicated when I’m thinking like this. But that’s the only thing I’m concentrating on.

“It should be…right…here,” GoldDust is glaring at her screen. She hands me the phone. “It says we’re here.”

She’s right. The blue dot is right on top of where the bar supposedly is. I look around. There is nothing that looks like a bar around us. I look back down at the phone. It blinks cheerily at me, announcing our arrival.

Then the blue dot flicks me off, then moves to another block away.

Fucking GPS making me walk further in my five inch heels.

No wonder JukeBox told GoldDust that no one goes to this bar. It’s because no one can find it.

We finally discover the Lost Bar of Atlantis. Sit, order, put up your feet. We were supposed to meet up with Tits McGee, but she’s nowhere to be found. JukeBox was talking about meeting up with us too, but he’s sidetracked in some other area of the D.

“What are your thoughts?” GoldDust asks me.

I shrug.

I think we both know that getting lost in R.O. is a buzzkill on the night. We decide to carry our heels, walk back to the car, and call it a night.

…which we do…

Until we’re walking down the street, barefoot, and GoldDust proclaims,

“Where the hell did we park?!”


Seek, and ye shall find.

One of the more entertaining aspects to wordpress for me has been the search engine. Every once in awhile, someone searches for something off the wall random and finds us, and I just think to myself:

What the fuck did we write, that helped someone find us from  с днем рождения?

Which, by the way, is apparently Happy Birthday in Russian. I had to Google it.

Anyway, this has lead me to research our top twenty most searched terms. And also to think that we’re letting down a lot of men who are searching for porno and ending up on our blog. Thanks to them for not commenting.

TheTripleThreat Top 20

Most of our top twenty are pretty normal. Everyone has birthdays, and knows that Poof are I are actually superheroes called Hotchtics. And 9 whole people searched for an AHL-er by the name of Francis Pare? That’s bizarre. Unless he’s googling himself, in which case he’s kind of cooler for being on an ego trip.

I was kind of disappointed because I KNOW at some point we were found by someone looking for a one legged woman who I think was trying to pee on herself. Maybe she had a jellyfish sting. We will never know.

Here are MY TOP TEN of our search results, in no particular order:

  1. “Happy Birthday I  think he’s stuck”
  2. “Erotic sexual denial”
  3. “Funny queef sayings”
  4. “You can give me brain and we’ll make it a smart car”
  5. “You’re a douchebag barney”
  6. “leg cut off still texting”
  7. “Janik! Yay, you, doug janik. if you suck here, you’re screwed, cuz the wings think you blow too”
  8. “what happened to”
  9. “woman lifts her leg and”
  10. “what does freshly picked batteries mean”

On that note, I leave with you with another amusing moment involving my mother.

We are at Craig’s Cruisers, for my mom’s friend’s kid’s birthday party. We’re late, since we went to see ELMO, live in concert before hand. My mom can’t find the invitation and when we’re checking in at the desk to go to the party, she can’t remember what the birthday kid’s name is.

“Do you remember what name the party is under?” The 16 year old working boy asks my mom.

She shrugs helplessly. “It’s [Other Asian’s Name]’s kid. Do you have [Other Asian Name] down for a party?”

He shakes his head.

LeBebe is getting restless, and he sees all the shiny games.  I know we have to get him away from them before he wants to touch everything in that three year old way. “It’s a party full of Asians,” I tell the guy. “A bunch of Filipinos.”

“Oh!” His eyes light up. “I’ll get someone to bring you back, I know who you’re talking about.”

Another 16 year old boy is bringing us back to the party room. On the way, I happen to glance into another room, and I recognize a couple of my mom’s friends. They see me and wave for us to come in. However, the boy is leading my mother into another room completely.

“Mom!” I jog over to her, and mention to her friend who has come to the door to say hi. My mom is all set to head into the second room, when she looks up.

“Oh, okay.” My mom thanks the confused looking boy. She heads over to her friend, waving goodbye to the other room full of confused asian people that we don’t know.

“We’re with the other asians,” I tell him. “Sorry.”

This doesn’t REALLY need a witty title, does it?

*See Update! Yay, Updates!*

I hope you’ve read Lady B’s latest before heading over here. The first part sounds like me and my inability to write anything good. Writer’s Block Alert. Thank God I’m on a computer and just hit delete. In paper terms, I’m sure I would’ve killed a tree or seven already.

In fact, after reading Lady B’s blog, I realized the frustration of my life and did this:

Fuck you words, words, words

“I am EXACTLY what you are feeling!” I then proceeded to text Poof about the post.

Nothing I write sounds good. I may have chuckled at what I’ve written when I’ve first written it, but then I read it again a day later…

It’s complete crap. I’m ashamed of it.

Therefore, I present to you:

Last weekend was spent in St. Louis, MO, where I was born. It was my grandma’s 90th birthday. The whole family got together and it was a very nice celebration. My grandma only criticized me once, mostly because I have an adorable child for her to love more than me.

VS also came in for the weekend, which meant we got to spend lots of time dishing about how amusing our family is.

“I remember when we were little, and we aspired to be our parents,” I tell her. “We were so young and innocent.”

“That’s when our parents were cool,” VS responds. “And when we were delusional.”

“Remember when I told you I wanted to be as tall as Dad and you told me Dad was too tall and I’d be a freak?” I remember fondly. “And you said you only wanted to be as tall as Mom.”

“Mom was tall then.” VS is getting a little grumpy now.

When L.A. was five and VS was seven…

L.A.: “I’m going to be as tall as Daddy.”

VS: Daddy is too tall. You’ll be weird looking. I just want to be as tall as Mommy.

When L.A. was twelve and VS was fourteen…

L.A.: “I’m taller than you.”

VS: “You are not. We are the same height.”

Dad: “Typically, younger siblings do grow to be taller than older siblings.”


VS: “I hate that you were born after me.”

L.A.: “I’m so tall!”

When L.A. was sixteen and VS was eighteen…

L.A.: “I’m taller than you!”

VS: “I hate you. You’re annoying.”

L.A.: “Remember when you wanted to be taller than mom? Well, you are!”

VS: “Mom, are there ANY tall people in your family??”

Mom: “Oh, sure!”

VS: “WHO?”

Mom: “My uncle was 5’6”!”

.And THAT, my friends is why my family doesn’t get together that much and also why I haven’t blogged.


Since my writer’s block has been beating the shit out of me, I decided to instead paint my frustration. And that spawned a Zazzle. And a t-shirt. Which once I get, I will post a picture of me wearing it, and hopefully, it’s irony will kill my writer’s block.

Writer's Block

Frustration via Cartoon.

Find the Writer’s Block Shirt HERE.

Find our new STORE (and by store, I mean, the one T-Shirt) HERE.

Follow us on the TWAT (because three shameless plugs is better than two) HERE.

Love me more by commenting. Which isn’t really a shameless plug if you were going to do it anyway.

Mr. Pig just got so much cooler.

I don’t know what helped shape your childhood, but I had one big staple that pretty much kicked royal ass. Still does. I call this: DISNEY ANIMATED MOVIES.

Why did I love these movies? Well.

  1. They sing.
  2. There is REALLY a princess for everyone.
  3. The fucked up ‘D’ that looks like a backwards ‘G.’ and made me think I couldn’t understand cursive for a good chunk of life.

So, theAsian came over while I was hanging out at BabyDaddy’s house. This spells Speed Scrabble. It spells strange conversations. I mean, do you remember what happened the last time theAsian and I hung out? YEAH. Tiny Keyboards, you fuckers.

Tiny keyboards.

Well, we get on the topic of Disney deliciousness and theAsian mentions that he was watching YouTube videos of the Lion King the other day. In Japanese.

Of course you were, my Asian friend.

So, he pulls up the video to show us that even though the lyrics to Hakuna Matata were all dubbed over, when Pumbaa is scatting at the end of the song, the American voices are used. Like the Asians got lazy by the end of it or something like that.

But as interesting as that fact was (and theAsian was indeed correct), things were about to get even better. For on the sidebar of my YouTube screen were suggestions similar to what I had just watched. Are you ready for this?

Now, I know your mind is blown right now. I mean, TIMON IS JUST SO DAMN UNIVERSAL. But this is about to get even better.

I’m crying from laughing so hard. I’ve yelled “THEY CALL ME MR. PIG,” in every language they tell me. You can totally learn from YouTube. It’s like Rosetta Stone by Walt Disney. And before you think that we wasted our WHOLE evening being YouTube freaks…

EXACTLY. You’re Welcome.