The Peregrine

Howdy ya’ll!!!!!!!111111111111111!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :33333

Sooooo I’d been meaning to write in my tumbls before the holidays. But I think to write about this hectic season in hindsight is much more entertaining.

(excuse/lie)

This Christmas was definitely one of my less interesting holiday experiences, though. maybe my idea of a fun/fuzzy/warm holiday season is becoming influenced by what Athens has to offer around this time of year.  

^^which is most likely something like this. seems more shiny/hard/plastic than fun/fuzzy/warm.  Man, I wish I had shiny red plastic thighs. Though they kind of remind me of something else…

oh yeah. lolololololololol. “shoot mang i wanna gnaw on dat turkey leg u kno wat i mean mang nom nom nom lolol shoot, DJ Jo-Nasty OUTTTtttt”

so I guess I don’t want my legs to be red, shiny, and netted.  it’d be very exciting and glamorous at first, but ultimately disheartening. if a guy wanted to date me, in the back of my mind I’d always be wondering “does he want me, or my delicious turkey body? when I get back to his place, will he seduce me with a carving knife? D: BAWWWWWWW” #absurdparallelworldproblems

yeah, anyway.

Part of me is content to stay home in good ol’ balmy Savannah and scheme up increasingly outlandish gingerbread architecture. Probably the more voluptuous  big boned  muscular? D:  fatter part of me.  But there’s a certain challenge to it that I relish.  not the challenge of how much royal icing and gingerbread my stomach can hold without rupturing (a lot, apparently), but rather in testing my stamina and my patience with myself.  How many times will i try the licorice-flavored gumdrop to only spit it out moments later? WHY can’t i learn to  chew AND swallow gross candies instead of spitting them out like a toddler? It’s not socially acceptable. Will I ever learn that I don’t particularly care for publix-brand graham crackers? WHY didn’t I invest in a good piping tip?  You know, typical #1 party school girl problems. 

After a good amount of self-loathing with the spitting out gumdrops/eating WAY too many raisinets, a Grossly-large Domestic Product of gingerbread is created.  This year, I debated between the leaning tower of pisa and a pueblo, but ultimately decided that the former was too trite.  pueblo it was. so much more badass than that Italian tower of shit. AND LOOK HOW I’VE GROWN THROUGHOUT THE YEARS

lily, left.  and pagoda, right.

lily, left. uga library, right.

pueblo, center. lily, over the spit, center. 

I guess what I’m trying to say with the juxtaposition of a gaudy XXXmas poster and my relatively wholesome gingerbread machinations is that I’m caught in an odd place in my life right now. I want to be crazy and wild and young and free, but I also recognize the long-term merits of being more settled, content, and bored/boring enough to spend three days on a cookie pueblo. new year’s eve is tonight,  and I feel like I’m almost being propelled into life rather than moving through it of my own volition. It’s passing so fast and I feel like I haven’t really…LIVED, at least with any amount of intensity and impulsion. Maybe that’s only in coming-of-age teen novels? Or a flashback montage in a romcom. ehhhhhhhhhhhh.  I’ll only LIVE when I’m a single proud independent fortysomething career woman traveling abroad in a foreign land. In 80 minutes I’ll discover the sensuality, spirituality, and  capacity for wild and crazy fun that I couldn’t unearth beneath the 40something years of built-up silent resignation and self-resentment!  :D :D :’D :’| :’(

D’:

But I know a lot of people feel the same way around this point in the year. It’s the high of the festivity of the season wearing off, maybe.  a passing phase, maybe…

So this break, I ended up compromising between being wild/crazy/free and being domestic/responsible/settled.  Combining the XXXmas poster and all that gingerbread…

best of both worlds, amirite? 

And now we’re already transitioning into new year’s resolutions. carving up the gingerbread pueblo to make it appear “less cookie and more adobe” reminded me of my pottery days, during which I would spend hours with assorted kitchen implements and mounds of clay. I want to create again, not just do organic chemistry. Although it’s so fun to admire Dr. Hubbard, like the fangirl I secretly am would. AHHH HE’S SO COOL.

Maybe my new year’s resolution should be to be more like Dr. Hubbard. Well-respected, chill, great at drawing cyclohexanes, and he works in a building with a shit-ton of cool succulent plants spilling over into the hallways! AND like two vending machines and this display case full of shiny old chemistry objects. AND HAS A KIND-OF BEARD. SIIIIIIIIIIIGggggggggggggggghhhh

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeegggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Maybe I just need something shiny in my life. That’s my new new new new year’s resolution: to Acquire something shiny, to Inquire into the the nature of shiny things. 

But for real, I should put my new year’s resolutions into writing so at least someone can hold me accountable.  I’m not really a fan of resolutions…I don’t like putting off what I could do/change until jan 1. of every year when I could just start today. But it’s a good time to make lists of what I would like to do in general.

• pick up pottery again
• work on watercolors
• practice piano/violin more often
• join/start a band/chamber group!
• make baked alaska
• travel somewhere, ROAD TRIP TO HAWAII
• make at least 35 on MCAT
• lose 5 lbs
• grow 3 inches
• learn how to shapeshift into my spirit animal, the red fox
• …peyote?
• burst into treats!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

Since I talk about becoming a pinata and exploding into candy so much, I appreciate this new meme more than I would my first-born child…. http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/burst-into-treats

Effect:

Spontaneous confection is the way to go nowadays, I guess. Happy New Year’s, drive safely! LILSTA OUTTTT. 

sup my lady and gentleboy friends?

So the most wonderful time of the year is drawing nigh. HALLOWEEN. There’s nothing quite like going outside, it being all chillylike and leaves blowin’ around n’ shit.  reminiscing back to the days w

Then you would run off the school bus, clutching your cellophane bag of assorted treats and Halloween pencils/erasers (which you gnawed on, pretending they were treats.  which you put neatly into your pencil drawer).  

And then sneaking upstairs and hiding your candy in various places so your mother, who meant well but had a pathological lack of self-control, would not sneak into your room in the dead of night and steal candy from her own children, take her booty, and then devour it in a small,dark, and quiet place. And, of course, as she slowly added mass to her figurative and literal booty, discarding the wrappers in the crannies of her rank candy closet so that they built up into a shrine to her sugar addiction.    

:D love you mommy!

So Halloween at the Kims was a very special and precious time.  And I say “was” because now I’m not there to truly add the chaos and momentary misery on that evening. 

I shouldn’t explain.

But I will. you guys are so lucky. SO LUCKY

Every year my parents get REALLY into halloween. Well, it’s more like my mom. my dad just sits on the couch, alternating between watching UFC and sleeping with his eyes open. And surgery too, I guess. Eh.

 She goes all out for Halloween decorating. Every year she can be spotted in pink sweatpants decorating the front gate with skeletons, cobwebs, and ravens. It can get quite macabre. When I visited a few weeks ago, I came home to a skeleton with a rope around its neck, dangling from the palm tree in our front yard. “My decorations,” she lovingly refers to her collection. “LILY! STOP EATING *insert fattening food here* AND MOVE YOUR LAZY BUTT TO HELP ME PUT UP MY DECORATIONS!” 

Lily Kim, aged 18, tries her first halloween cheeseburger dressed as Hoff.

“Hrmpgggh…” I would trail off. “No.” And once again I would commence the delicate dissection of a popcorn ball. So she’d stay up until 11 PM figuring out how to scare the mailman by attaching random fake things to the mailbox. One year she actually put a fake spider in there.  The cycle repeats.

Later,she and I would go through the halloween catalogs and drag the children to Party City, with a very grumpy Dad. “We don’t need to be buying this garbage.” He would mutter.  ”OOOHH! CANDY CORN!” My mom would exclaim in response, and inhale the entire bag while I looked on, horrified.  My mother and I would “strongly recommend” certain children to dress as certain things. 

one year, Bastian was a skunk. He HATED it. See how he is being offered up to the heavens? Pungent sacrifices were made.

But I should really stop hating on my mom. I do the same thing. A few years back, I was OBSESSED with ducks. But I thought dressing as a duck would be dumb, so I forced my younger sister Emmaline into a duck costume and made her follow me around.  Since I didn’t want to be a dorky duck for Halloween, I chose to be a bunny. Not a cute sexy bunny. But the EASTER BUNNY. I don’t really know what my train of thought was.

…But I liked it.

…and she didn’t. “Lily forced me to go as a duck one time,” she announced to friends. “I hated it.”

Bastian, the youngest, hates Halloween in general. He’s a serial worrier, telling my father he drives too fast, that we should exercise caution while solo swimming, and pointing out choking hazards. He is also 4 years old.

Halloween scares the turds out of him.  ”EEEeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhhhh” he would cry anxiously as we approached the house of strangers. “I want to go home. This is scary.” This is the face he made.

but my costume this year will top all the costumes I forced my siblings into. It will even top Mr. Donut, the costume my mom made for “Go to school as a letter” day in high school in kindergarten. Not Ms. donut. MR. Donut. she taped poster-board donuts to my face and glasses, and made me wear one of my father’s undershirts with a big sparkly pink “D” in craft paint across the front. I HATED IT. Everyone else was so cute, like ‘annie apple” or “beautiful buttefly”. I was just a mass of fried lardy dough, sprinkled with kindergarten angst.

mmmm.

Anyway, this year’s costume will be super balla. it’s a secret, but one thing I can say about it is that people will not be able to tell if I’m a male or female in it. which I think is a riot.

So now that I’m properly caffeinated and brimming with nostalgia and a vague desire to eat donuts, I’m peacing out.

HOLLA HOLLA LIL’ YA’LL

Or, as in they say in the magical fictional land of Boston, CAHFEY. 

Love,

Lily

Yes, folks, it would seem that coffee has replaced marshmallows  family friends school  are you sure its not marshmallows? everything important and most edible things in my life.  It has become such an integral part of my life that its name is sufficient to comprise an entire tumblr post.  Which—-if you consider the grand enormity of the universe and the trillions of photons and electrons moving through space-time at any given moment, and the fact that you are ultimately an ephemeral dumplin’ of electrical impulses—isn’t such a silly thing. Tee hee!

my expectations of readers’ reactions:

vs. reality:

just kidding.  I have much lower expectations. I wuv you guyzzzzzzz

anyway. ever since I took O-Chem (hollaaa) this summer, I have remained grounded by coffee (snerk).  Caffeine addiction is a very real thing.  On one hand, it has transformed me into a much more alert little girl.  On the other, slightly shaky hand, when I am deprived of a certain amount of caffeine, I become SuperBetch, my not-so-alter-ego.  

below, Lily pre-coffee

above, Lily pre-coffee. 

above above caption, Lily pre-coffee.

above below picture, Lily caffeinated.

…PROFIT!!!

note how I appear noticeably more beautiful. I have regained the will to live, which in my case is characterized by the lack of glasses and the materialization of a taco.

which actually doesn’t make a lot of sense, since I would NEVER EVER EVER lose the will to eat. and I don’t even like hard tacos. Fack. how did that get there?

Much better. I think the marshmallow:chocolate/graham cracker/fire ratio/ small amount of green mold on left of marshmallow is just right.

But where am I going with this?

I want to warn my readers of the dangers of becoming addicted to something so very mundane.  But why, you may ask, is being addicted to something so commonplace worse than something like crack? 

To which I would respond: where the hell did you get that idea?

and then I would continue: coffee enables a person to do incredibly stupid things in very public places, like coffee shops. take me, for example. Ten minutes ago I was walking extraordinarily slowly through Walker’s in order not to spill my nth cup of coffee. I got in the way of this guy, who apologized. I just said “I’m CONCENTRATING ! SORRY! I’M DOING A BAD JOB LOL :P!111!!”  and then spilled coffee all over my table. as I was walking back to get napkins, I called out to him, “NICE SHIRT!”

…..

this is what he was wearing.

….

just kidding. I did say that too, once. good decisions…

he was wearing a transformers shirt though. and I was like TROLL FACE TRANSFORMERS

ugh. I’m pretty sure hard drugs wouldn’t enable you to do something so socially awkward. the worse thing that you could do is pass out and vomit on a random passerby, which would be a lot less awkward.  The horror and disgust would cover up the awkwardness quite well. and the vomit would hide the coffee spill! Everything turned out better than expected!

Also, caffeine hypes you up not up to the point at which you will do your homework, but only to the point in which you draw yourself as the “Y U NO” meme over and over again but holding different foods, one of which being on fire.

I wouldn’t know about that scenario personally, but I had a really misguided friend who had that happen to her. she was pretty lame though, so she probably enjoyed trolling herself. 

yeah, she probably does like trolling herself.

my life is sometimes scary and terrible, stuck in an infinite loop of self-trolling,

help me,

someone,

my heart is beating like a million times a second and I can barely type,

Lily

note: please do not call 911 for an ambulance, I joké.  if you were to call 911 though I would rather you send a big nice shiny fire truck with a squadron of muscly intense guys in fireproff neon yellow.

surprise! I remembered I had a tumblr again! 

So we’re all off to another exciting school year. Week 1 has passed with sufficient humiliation- apparently enough for me to remember that I have a way to announce my embarassment to all facebook acquaintances! HELL YEAHHHHHHH

Unfortunately, I have to be a bit selective when writing of my escapades. Sorry for partying.  

So, one PG-13 snafu occurred on Monday…first day o school, AWRRIGHT.  Being a super silly half-Asian dumplin’ of competence, I left my blackberry on the floor of my ochem lecture hall, but realized this 20 minutes after the fact.  I power stepped up 3 flights of stairs and was rushing to class when sometimes taps me softly on the shoulder.  Sweaty and anxious, I turn to face a concerned young man.  ”excuse me…don’t be embarassed…but I wanted to be the one to tell you this.”

^my face.

“Your skirt is up on the right. It’s pretty high up…I was walking behind you on the stairs…”

At this point I was so sweaty and gross and disgusting and panting I actually was not embarrassed.  ”I’m actually so sweaty and gross and anxious about my lost cell phone that I’m not embarrassed…I probably should be. Oh, by the way, it’s a romper.” I stated.

“…oh. okay.” he trailed off as I power walked back to my chem class and he trotted next to me. 

“…”

“:D”

then he started making small talk about chemistry and if I walked that route every monday, wednesday, and friday. and I was like…pant pant pant and suppressed a  nervous impulse to vomit, because that wouldn’t have been helpful in that situation, I think. and then I ran away.  ”Good luck with your skirt!” he called awkwardly after me. I think he meant romper. Actually, he probably meant cell phone. whatevs. same thing.

^me, as super happy-go-lucky fantasy magical bare-cheeked asian fun time lady who enjoys stair climbing and indecent exposure. Tee hee! 

that story probs should have been rated NC-17, actually.   sad.

fast forward to a few hours later in psychology. I am 80% sure I convinced 80% of my class that I was insane. I burst into class late, and notice everyone has these note cards with their names and little doodles on them.  So I pull out my nastyass wrinkly shopping list and draw my name, a marshmallow on fire, seven tiny people, and a giant mug of coffee.  when it came to my turn, I blurted out: MYNAMEIS LILY AND IAM ADDICTEDTO COFFEE and MARSHMALLOWS AND POTTERY. TEE HEE HERE IS A COFFEE STAIN.

Then I turned my paper around and proudly displayed said coffee stain. 

It sounded nice and quirky in my head but i’m pretty sure I seemed like I was on hard drugs.

  Then, the next person said “My name is _____, and I like God, my family, and TV………

……..

………that’s it.”

I laughed. I probably shouldn’t have because I got a few disapproving looks…I guess she wasn’t joking.  

So now I’m a supposed coked up ass who inadvertently bares literal ass.

BAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Life is grand. 

Love,

Marshmallow Lily

P.S. For future reference, the phrase “..I read books” is not a good follow-up save after telling a girl that you go to Athens Tech. 

Love again,

Elitist Marshmallow Lily

Food poisoning, like communism, is an experience rooted in good intentions but executed much more smoothly in theory.

It is, of course, the body’s way of getting rid of unsavory characters, such as last thursday’s pad thai, or a particularly virulent strain of e.coli. 

Or, in my case, a piece of semi-raw chicken I decided to stuff in my mouth. To, you know, determine if it was cooked or not. Which in retrospect was not my magnum opus of plans.

Best Plan Ever Herp Derp!

1) Cut chicken.

2) Wash hands.

3) assemble ingredients. 

4) Cook chicken on stove.

5) Take bite of ambiguously heated chicken.

6) Recoil in disgust.

7) Repeat 5 and 6 two minutes later.

8) Serve miraculously overcooked chicken to family.

9) Wait two hours.

10) ???????

11) PROFIT!!

So after finally getting to bed around 6 AM this morning , tossing fitfully in dreams of lemon-lime crumbles gone awry during culinary tours in European countries and using my body as a model for a gingerbread man layout as well as a gingerbread partition in a small gingerbread cottage (????? I normally have odd dreams but these aren’t even weird, just really stupid), I awake at 7AM to find my parents asking me if I was okay (I wasn’t). I just weakly asked for gatorade, or some kind of electrolyte.  

aspartame gives me nauseating migraines.

Eventually, my mother procures some wholesome Wild Berry gatorade. I stumble down the staircase in search of a treat that would undo all the ultra-badness that had occurred the night before.

JUMBO MEGA STAR CRUNCH.

Oh, holy night. The starcrunches are brightly shining. 

In the dead of the night, i felt a tug at my soul. It was luring me to the inky blackness of the pantry, where a box of extra large mega star crunches lay, overly contented with its caramel and rice prowess. I pocketed one in hopes of eating it in a more physiologically peaceful era. Such as this morning.

BUT WHEN I LOOKED IN MY PURSE IT WAS GONE.

SOME ASSWIPE SIBLING WENT IN MY PURSE AND STOLE IT.

Or it could’ve been my mom. Eh. 

It’s probably not the best decision to consume a jumbo sugar cake when you can’t even stomach solid food.  But my will is seriously stronger than my stomach. I could’ve done it. maybe. regardless I am very upset and have been fretting all day over my lost star crunch.

On a side note, I’ve been thinking a lot.  In times of great boredom and distress, I often return to my childhood. Not really, but that’s not important. What’s really important is that I’ve discovered that my view of men has been shaped by Sailor Moon in that I subconsciously expect males to be impossibly broad-shouldered.  

shoulder to waist ratio: 4583 to 1

But I consciously expect them to wear top hats and stab people with roses. There’s something admirable about a cape. 

With most animes, a storyline and ensemble that once was relatively normal and well-developed is perverted into something monstrous via cosplay.  Once again…an example of theory vs. practice:

in theory

in practice.

Some people say I look like Sailor Mars. 

. 

I would take that as a compliment.

I have a good feeling about me doing cosplay in the very near future. i think that would make me very…well-rounded as a person. SNERK

I’m proud because I made this myself. 

Please don’t take the cosplay claims to heart,

Lily

Okay. Who is the sadomasochist that came up with this one?

there’s a lot of sickening stuff swirling around this sweet little business. and it’s up to me, Lil’ Pudge, to get down to the bottom of this cake mystery. Batter up. 

It was an otherwise nondescript Memorial Day Saturday, whatever that is. I’ve only encountered 17 others, 3 of those days focused solely on overcoming infant and toddler developmental hurdles. For the case file-it was overcast. Gloomy. I was invited to go on a shopping excursion by Schmaitlin Schmong and Wailey Swamsley (names changed for protection). towards the end of our spree, the words “Gigi’s Cupcakes” wormed their way into the conversation. Plans were made. Stomachs were rumbling. And I was dreading the emotional avalanche of self-loathing and utter senseless abandon that was to occur.

We entered the shop. It was blissfully, unmercifully open. Only a few cupcakes remained, being either of the Summer Fun variety or the Midnight Magic variety.  Summer Fun is funfetti cake topped with icing a la Marie Antoinette Hairpiece.  

Look at that ugly mug. Notice the excess of sprinkles. This confection’s got somethin to hide.

midnight magic was devil’s food cake with chocolate cream cheese icing. 

Heh. Looks sweet, right? Chocolate chips, all dolled up, and nowhere to go…but in my belleh.

The generous…or perhaps, duplicitous cashier gave us one of each for the price of a single cupcake.  What was going on? Something delicious this way comes.

I arrived at Gigi’s planning to eat a half of a cupcake. instead…I ATE TWO. 

BOTH.

ALL OF IT.

EVEN THE PAPER. 

Not really. I just ate the paper, no cupcake.

Not really again. I didn’t eat the paper. I’m allergic. I left a little bit of icing.

Do I regret it?

…

HELL YES. the estimate of 1, uno, the representation for a single item-780 calories.

it was hella good. But seriously, what twisted person starts up a business selling extraordinarily fattening items and then puts a large screenprint of her skinny self, smiling in an apron, on the wall?! ughhnnnhhhhhghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Apparently, Gigi. Case closed. And that’s how the cupcake crumbles. And by crumbles I mean falls apart quickly in my mouth. SNERK

Instead of crowding news feeds everywhere, you guys should just follow my pinterest for non-journal related posts! http://pinterest.com/lily_kim21/ It’s a lot more convenient and less pretentious.