Name that tune

There are some memes that I simply cannot resist. This would be one of them. I first saw this through a post that Hilly shared and then over at her blog.

The Rules:

1. Put your mp3 player or music player on your computer on random.
2. Post the first four lines from the first 20 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing the song (Skip repeat artists). I decided that if one of these four lines included the song titles I would use only the lines up to that point. If it's the first line, I'll give you the four following -- in one song this meant only giving you three line. So hard this song thing.
3. Post and let everyone you know guess what song and artist the lines come from.
4. No cheating.


1. Right about now NWA court is in full effect.
Judge Dre presiding in the case of NWA versus the police department.
Prosecuting attourneys are MC Ren Ice Cube and Eazy muthafuckin E.
Order order order. Ice Cube take the muthafuckin stand.
Fuck tha Police by NWA guessed by rawdawgbuffalo

2. Light in your head and dead on your feet
Well another crazy day
You'll drink the night away
And forget about everything
Baker Street by Gerry Rafferty

3. Never thought I’d see you like this
You lookin’ good when you’re half dressed
Just let me give you one last test
Is that a sin, no
Showdown by Britney Spears

4. Purely intense amazing
Exquisitely devastating
I'm in a daze and I'm
Drenched in our moment
Safe by Bonnie Bailey

5. It's not the pale moon that excites me
That thrills and delights me, oh no
It isn't your sweet conversation
That brings this sensation, oh no
Nearness of You by Norah Jones

6. See, first of all
I know these so-called players wouldn't tell you this
But I'm a be real and say what's on my heart
Let's take this chance and make this love feel relevant
Let's Get Married by Jagged Edge

7. My child arrived just the other day
He came to the world in the usual way
But there were planes to catch and bills to pay
He learned to walk while I was away
Cats in the Cradle by Harry Chapin guessed by Bella Karma

8. It all came so easy, all the loving you gave me
The feelings we shared, and I still can remember
How your touch was so tender, it told me you cared
We had a once in a lifetime
If Ever You're in My Arms Again by Peabo Bryson title guessed by Nat

9. They're like the latest fashion
They're like a spreading disease
The kids are strappin' on their way to the classroom
Getting weapons with the greatest of ease
Come Out and Play by Offspring guessed by Nat

10. Took some time to celebrate
Just one day out of life
It would be, it would be so nice
Everybody spread the word
Holiday by Madonna guessed by Nat

11. I wanna rock right now
I'm Rob Base and I came to get down
I'm not internationally known
But I'm known to rock the microphone
It Takes Two by Rob Base and DJ EZ Rock guessed by Bella Karma

12. The more you make me see
By giving me all you've got
Your love has captured me
Over and over again
The Closer I Get to You by Roberta Flack

13. I'm having trouble trying to sleep
I'm counting sheep but running out
As time ticks by
And still I try
Brain Stew by Green Day

14. Boy I`ma make you love me, make you want me
And I`ma give you some attention, tonight
Now follow my intuitions, what you`re wishin`
See I`ma keep you up all night, for a long time
One Minute Man by Missy Elliott

15. Words in papers, words in books
Words on tv, words for crooks
Words of comfort, words of peace
Words to make the fighting cease
Wordy Rappinghood by The Tom Tom Club

16. How can I put this in a way so as not to offend or unnerve
There's a rumor goin' all round that u ain't been gettin' served
They say that u ain't u know what
In baby who knows how long
Gett Off by Prince

17. Son you better be ready for love
On this glory day
This is your chance to believe
What I've got to say
Time Out of Mind by Steely Dan

18. Since I could call you
But everything I can't remember as fucked up as it may seem
the consequences that I've rendered
I've stretched myself beyond my mean
It's Been Awhile

19. You know what the Midwest is?
Young & Restless
Where restless (Niggas) might snatch your necklace
And next these (Niggas) might jack your Lexus
Jesus Walks by Kanye West

20. When your world is full of strange arrangements
And gravity won't pull you through
You know you're missing out on something
Well that something depends on you
The Look of Love by ABC artist guessed by Nat


And yeah, I know that I copied lyrics that include the "n" word. I can do that. Most or the rest of you can't. Unless you want a beatdown. And the beatdown is not being racist but someone of the paler nation using the "n" word is. Why? Because implicit in the definition of being racist is being in a position of power. Last time I checked, my people were not there so while we may be prejudiced, we are not racist. Get your terminology straight. And frankly, I have yet to meet a person who is not prejudiced in some way or another. It's what we do about our prejudices that really matters at the end of the day.

And maybe one day I'll let y'all guess what the default ringtone on my cell phone is. It surprises most folks. And that's all I'm going to say. Actually now that I think about it, I just might be willing to give out a prize to the person who can correctly guess my ringtone. Consider it the bonus question. (Sorry but I am going to disqualify Buzzgirl, Fluffycat, and Zombie Mom from a possible prize for this question as they may have actually heard the tone.)

But in the meantime, try to figure out the songs.

Seems like Nat is the winner. Guess I have to figure out a prize for her.

Blowing through the jasmine in my mind

My old place in San Francisco had jasmine all around the front door. (The tree limbs are the magnolia tree.) Now it only exists in my mind. With a bunch of other stuff.

I had a long chat with Zombie Mom after yesterday's post. I said, "Now you understand why I feel fat now." She said that I was just too skinny back in the day and that I look healthy now. Many family members have said the same thing. For years they had been telling me that I needed to gain weight. OK. So maybe my doctor was saying the same thing as well when I was in high school. I'm now at the weight he thought that I should be. (I just checked my BMI on a NIH site. Apparently I am now at the low end of the range for normal. My weight up until about five years ago was always in the underweight range. I knew this though.) So I guess Zombie Mom and I are struggling with opposite body image issues, but in some ways they're similar. We are both now at weights that others consider to be "healthy" but when you've spent most of your life outside of that range, it's hard to see what everyone else does.

I also talked to Zombie Mom tonight. One thing stuck in my mind from that conversation -- storytelling. When we were in college, Emerald used to tell me that I was a wonderful storyteller. I think it started with a chair. In the photo featuring the red mini and black boots, there is a chair to the left of me. That chair was a rocking chair. And for many years, my mother would sit in that chair, I would climb onto her lap, and she would read fairytales to me. This started long before I myself could read. By the time that I could, I had memorized many of the stories. One night at a college party, I entertained people with the retelling of some of these fairytales. I simply could not believe that they had never read Hans Christian Andersen -- my absolute favorite. I also took a class in college in African literature. The professor was really into the oral tradition in the tribes of Africa. It's the same in the African American community. Over the years, I have sat and listened while my elders -- my great grandfather (whose parents were born into slavery), my great aunts and uncles, my grandmother, whoever -- told their stories. And they all got stored away in my memory. Many of those people have now passed but their stories haven't. Whenever I am with family, I share their stories. Somewhere along the way I became the keeper of my family's history. I have also been doing research since about age 13 to see what is true. Perhaps one day I will write it all down. I worry. I have no children of my own. Who will keep the stories when I am gone? (And yes, perhaps this could have been a post on its own but I decided to throw this into the general hodgepodge of this post.)

I went into Tuesday with mixed feelings. A lot of folks, including some relatives, forgot my birthday on Monday. I also work with people who are nice but don't do anything for birthdays. It was the most anti-climatic birthday I have ever had. If it had been a "big" one, I probably would have been depressed. Oh yeah. I'm already kind of depressed so I'm not sure how that would have worked out.

My dad shared too much information with my mom on Monday when she called him. Now she's screaming stuff like, "I want my money back." This would be the money that she contributed to their joint finances when they were married. Have I mentioned that they have been divorced for over 30 years? I shared with my father the joys of caller ID. "When I don't feel like talking to her, I just don't answer the phone." Remember? She knows nothing about boundaries. That means that everyone else in her life must establish them. He also said that she doesn't really listen to people. I pointed out that those were my exact words to her last summer -- right before I called her a "fucking bitch." Because sometimes she really can be one. We care about her but she could really benefit from some therapy. There's only so much the rest of us can do.

Saturday night I'm heading out with the girls. I hope this will make up for what has been a rather blah birthday season thus far. OK. I did get that fabulous Kate Spade bag last week but that's not enough. One of my friends backed out of the dinner thing because I wouldn't allow her to bring her boyfriend (?) along. I don't know what the guy is at this point except that he is her baby's daddy. And I can say that because (1) they are not married, and (2) when she found out she was pregnant, he disappeared from the scene. He just returned late last year because now he wants to be a father. The kid will be three later this summer. Oh, and my first time meeting him? Kind of came off as a pompous ass. So I figured that I would be selfish. It's my party as the saying goes, after all. Having a guy around on a girls' night? Totally messes with the dynamics. Especially if it's some guy you don't even like. So yeah. My friend apparently now only goes out when he can join her. I told my therapist on Tuesday it just seemed weird to me. "I don't want to be in a relationship if it means that I can't have an identity that is separate from the other person. It just doesn't seem healthy."


For years my grandmother has been sending me a check for my birthday as well as Christmas. For years I have not been cashing those checks. I mean, she lives on Social Security. Instead I have been shredding them. My mother finally shared this with my grandmother after this past Christmas. Tuesday morning I called my grandma to thank her for the card that she had sent. (I have told my mother that I have never once doubted in my life that my grandmother loves me.) She told me that I was to cash the check and to treat myself to something this time -- perhaps gas in my car. I laughed and told her that her check would not fill the tank of my car but it would buy me dinner. As the day wore on, I remembered how Monday's dinner was so uneventful. That made me think of the shrimp at Gregoire. So I got home and ordered two entrees -- the shrimp and the curried lamb chops -- as well as my usual potato puffs. Now I have dinner for two nights. When I went in to pick up my order, the cook said, "Hi." And that got me thinking. Now that folks can recognize me on the street, perhaps I should lay off saying stuff about guys who I may meet in everyday life who I find attractive.

OK. Brain empty. Now I'm set to watch some TV and to read some more Dexter. Although tomorrow night is such the better TV night. Because hello. Season finale of "Farmer Wants a Wife." Hmmmm. I need to check when "I Love Money" starts so that I can be sure to add it to my DVR schedule. Oh, but tonight is a new episode of "Flipping Out." Cool. A reality show about featuring a person who has issues with boundaries. But I'm not related to him.

Blending in, of sorts

Just a bit of a warning. This post is a little bit of everything...

Third Street in San Francisco is a curious place. It makes some of my co-workers afraid, kind of like the effect that 23rd Street in Richmond has for some people. But me? Well, I kind of blend, so why worry?

And that's how I found myself at the Hard Knox Cafe on Friday for lunch. Those photos I took last week? China Basin. The quickest was from where I work to China Basin is to cruise along Third Street. And I've done that drive to China Basin a few times. (I probably won't be doing it anymore since I got home on Friday to find my notary commission in the mailbox.) Folks always ask me how I find restaurants. Well, when I'm doing drives like that, I keep an eye out for anything interesting. In this case, it turned out to be the Hard Knox. And this last time I remembered to do a Google search on them. And then I mentioned it to the receptionist at work. She had been there several times and highly recommended the place. I was intrigued. She also told me that I couldn't go wrong with anything smothered. And to ignore the comments on Yelp. The fried chicken was OK -- while the dark meat was moist the white meat was dried out, in her opinion. Hell. Loads of places make great fried chicken. The mark of a good soul food place is the other stuff they serve.


I went with the smothered pork chops. The problem was deciding on sides so I went with three, paying for the extra -- collard greens, yams, and mac & cheese. The mac & cheese reminded me of my stepmother's. Well, the stuff she would have made back when she could cook. It had that taste of Velveeta. Sorry, but my grandmother (my mom's mother) makes hers with sharp cheddar. Two different tastes. That was the only fault -- sort of. I worried that there would not be any vinegar in the greens but I tasted a subtle version of that tang. Thankfully I had asked for hot sauce. The addition of some Crystal's made the greens perfect in my mind. (This may be due to the fact that I am used to my daddy's greens. And he always cooks his with peppers.) The yams? Sometimes I hit some undercooked sections but that just proved to me that they were not from a can. Finally, the pork chops. I was able to cut into them with a plastic fork. And long after the meat was gone, I found myself digging around in the remaining gravy with hopes of finding more meat. Who would have thought that two pork chops were not a sufficient serving? Oops. I just remembered that I did not mention the cornbread muffins. Sublime. Those pork chops and muffins will keep me coming back.

While I may not have "blended" with the diners in the packed restaurant, I definitely "blended" with the folks I saw along my way back to the office. There was also that sense of pride in seeing how Third Street today looks so much more prosperous than it did ten years ago when I first started driving along it on a fairly regular basis. But the blending thing? Well, there were no weird looks that said, "Girl. What the hell you doing around here?" Instead it was a feeling of belonging.

Ooo. I just had a flash of the president of my company who sometimes refers to me as "girl." But I guess it doesn't bother me too much because I've also gotten used to him referring to his own as "crackas." Oh, and Friday was the meeting at the conference room at the hotel that I had set up. When I went there to see that everything was OK, all the guys present -- yes, they were all male because I work in construction these days -- told me how they had heard how I was so good from the president. And that's just what I needed to hear right now. Because when you give a lot of yourself to other people, it's nice to hear every now and then that they appreciate your efforts. And my current job? Probably part of the reason why I like working there so much is that they have no problem in telling me how much they appreciate my effort. And it's been a long time since I've heard it.

So Friday was a good day indeed.

Awww. Let's be honest. I went to therapy tonight and the therapist said how I seemed to be doing much better since the last session. He still thinks I need weekly one-on-one though. I talked about my family and told him that I had not told them that I was in therapy once more. Because the last time? Each week my mother would ask, "Did you talk about me? What did you say about me?" And then I explained to the therapist how I understand why my mother acts in this way. I go to therapy because she won't. For this whole thing to work for us, at least one of us needs to go to therapy. Oh, and then there's my dad's side of the family. They don't have mental health issues. Uh huh. That's why they don't need to do the therapy thing. Just look at my dad. He's the former recovering alcoholic who didn't understand why he had to go through all 12 steps. Sure it took him over 20 years to fall off the wagon but still. Maybe next time I'll tell the therapist that I have always dreamed of the day when I would never have to ask either parent for a little extra cash to tie me over until the next payday. With my new position, that day may have finally come. I just wonder if my parents realize this. Because I swore to myself years ago, that I would walk away from my crazy ass family if I didn't need them financially. Self-preservation and shit.

Evidence of how fucked up these people can be? Growing up, I regularly heard, "I don't understand how people like you so much," or some variation on that. Perhaps my parents, with their twisted senses of humor, meant it to be funny. Guess what? This is not the kind of shit one should say to a teenager. Maybe it's because I can read people pretty well, though, and know what is the socially acceptable thing to say in a given situation. When your father's boss is ranting on about a particular issue, do you disagree with him because that's how you really feel? No. You keep your mouth closed and nod your head in agreement. Fuck my parents and their various proclamations. I was a good kid. I waited until I was legally an adult to start acting like my real self.

And this time I even remembered to mention my food issues. I know that Zombie Mom is glad to hear that. The therapist told me that it was one of the few coping mechanisms that I have left. Well, unhealthy ones, that is. (And haha. The idiot didn't even seem to realize how he had been played. My appointment was at six this evening. I had had half a bagel with cream cheese and three cups of tea the whole day. Sucka! And no, Zombie Mom, you do not have to stage an intervention or anything. I ate yesterday. Two full meals. It's just that today I was "fat" as a result of those two meals.) So he recommended some places to me. It seems that Thrive will only let one do individual therapy once every three weeks. What's up with that? He encouraged me to Google the places on his list. I'm kind of leaning toward the place that uses this. And for a minute or two, I tried to be like my dad. But I still remember the therapist saying right before I left, "And you know some people need to do therapy for a year or two." Hell. I already did one year previously. How much more do I need? Maybe I don't need therapy. Maybe I just need more smothered pork chops ... Nah. I need both.

The memory of gifts

This is one of the posts that I wrote this past weekend before the other stuff. I'm feeling better -- sort of -- so I thought that I would start off with this one.


Normally when I watch Dumb and Dumber, I catch up on my DVD viewing since there is no cable in the house. And the thought of watching nothing but network TV on a holiday weekend? Ick! But Friday night I was sucked in by a series on the local PBS station, "Becoming American: The Chinese Experience."

Throughout the series, I found myself thinking how POCs have so many experiences in common living in the United States. Not that theses were new thoughts for me.

One woman talked about her two close friends in school; one was black and the other white. It reminded me of my two closest friends from high school. We told people that we were sisters who had the same mother but different fathers. Do you know how many idiots actually believed us? And my sisters? I'm still friends with them today. One is the friend for whom I made the layette a couple of years ago. And we were all heartbroken when that baby was stillborn. But a few weeks ago she gave birth to a healthy baby girl.

And there was this one kind of bold woman and by what they said about her college graduation date, she's about my age. She talked about how the joy of being American is that you can decide who you want to be. She pointed out that others may not be happy with your choice and try to make you define yourself in another way but the decision is still yours. She also talked about going to Cal and how everyone lumps all of the Asians together but how they're not all the same. She pointed out to Bill Moyers that there were terms that white America might not know that were discussed within the Asian community -- FOBs, ABCs, Twinkies. And I thought to myself, "But I know these terms because I had friends in high school and college who used them.

Now we get to the why of the bracelet. It was a gift from a family friend when I was in high school. Often dinner at her house involved looking through her jewelry after the meal. And when you said, "This is pretty," you would be told, "It's yours." Or she'd come back from a trip to Hong Kong with a new piece of jewelry for you. When I moved into my apartment three years ago, I had to sort through things. I came across this bracelet that I hadn't worn in years. I had forgotten that I owned it. And while watching the show, I remembered my bracelet and the rest just flowed. Because it was about a lot more than jewelry.

This friend proudly proclaimed herself to be ABC. Unlike her parents. She was like having the cool older sister around. When she came to dinner at our house, she'd peruse Seventeen magazine with me while my mother cooked up soul food. At her house, she introduced me to cranberry juice. And showed me how to fold wonton wrappers to make potstickers. Sometimes we would go to Clement Street for dim sum where she would order everything in Cantonese. And then she would say, "Just taste it. I'll tell you what is later." The item that I remember the most was shark. After she told me what I had just eaten, I said, "You could have told me what it was. I still would have eaten it." When she got married, I got to attend my first Chinese wedding banquet. I told my mother that I simply had to marry someone Chinese because I wanted one of those banquets. (She later divorced this husband after she found out he was cheating on her, if I remember correctly.) Over the years she also gave me numerous books to read. In fact she is responsible for my love of the hard-boiled detective genre. Later when I was home from college one summer, she took me to dinner at the cafe at Chez Panisse. (My mother had been invited as well but my mother can be rather opinionated about food and refused to go.) I remember what a wondrous place it was. And every time I walk past the place I remember that evening.

In remembering this friend (I'm not sure what has become of her. My mother had one of her infamous arguments and this friend disappeared from our lives as so many of my mother's friends have over the years.), I remember how so many conversations in trying to close the cultural divide centered around food. And maybe that's why I go back to food so often here. It's often a comfortable common ground. Except for maybe that pineapple thing. Or maybe that is as well.

Oh, and today marks three years of this blog.

Y'all still are cracking me up

As we are approaching the holiday weekend, I thought I'd share some more thoughts. And it just seemed appropriate, given the holiday.

The other day I published a post that some of y'all took great offense to. Guess what? I still don't give a flying fuck. If it made you feel uncomfortable, then you probably needed to hear it. In order to make change, you need to be willing to talk about those things that make you uncomfortable. Otherwise we are just preserving the status quo.

I think what probably surprised the most was how some folks thought they were voicing an "original" idea. Let me tell you something. I've heard all of your arguments before. Thus my pissed off state. (That also means that I probably have a lot more experience at responding than you do. It's also really depressing that people after all this time have not been able to come up with anything novel. It's kind of like the guy who uses the cheesy pick-up line that we've all heard too many times.) And what is it specifically that pisses me off? It's the attitude of, "Well, this is just the way it should be," and acting like there is no room for discussion. Because that's how it comes off. Someone tries to show you a different perspective of the world and you just want to shut it down because it doesn't align with your world view. Yet another thing to make me sad. Because as long as this type of unwillingness to truly participate in the discussion exists, there will be no change. And maybe you're happy with the status quo but I sure as hell am not. If we were married, then I'd want a divorce.

The talking in movie thing was just an example -- a minor one if you ask me -- of how my feeling, at least, is that decisions about culture have been made in this country. I am not asking others to agree with me about whether it is acceptable or not. What I heard when I read those other blogs was, "I don't really like this behavior and I really don't care why people may behave in that manner." And to me that showed a complete lack of awareness of cultural differences. Because believe me when I say that people of color are fully aware of the dominant culture. We deal with it on a daily basis and are not given a choice about it.

What I would like to see is that we all get to the point at which we can discuss things so that we can come to a consensus. Because as a person of color, it often feels like decisions have been made about who and what I should be while I was not allowed to take part in the process. How can someone realistically expect another person to buy-in to an idea when that person was not a part of the process to begin with?

So here's the deal. Why don't you try opening up your minds? You know. Like what I'm asked to do on a daily basis.

To give you some further insight into my world, this is the city in which I grew up. There's even a movie about my city. I didn't go that high school even though I was supposed to. It wasn't until recent years that I would freely say the city's name. Might have something to do with people's reactions to it. "You're from where? You don't seem like what I'd imagine someone from there to be like." Because people read stuff like this and they get scared. When I was in college, I'd tell people about this because it is one the strong memories of the city from when I was in high school. Because it's always a good sign when "60 Minutes" does an expose on your police department. But there are things to proud of like this place. And now I live in a city in which the holiday is called "Indigenous People's Day." And in which Malcolm X's birthday is a holiday in the public schools. And I love that in these cities I have met so many wonderful people who are willing to take part in the dialog.

Oh, and on another note, BWB confirmed one of my fears the other night. She was telling me that she went to the store to buy oxtails and they wanted $7.99 a pound. What the hell?! I shared the story with my mother. My mother said, "That's just like the catfish."

Here we go again

Yep. Back up on the soapbox again. Because I'm a bit peeved. Imagine that. And this time I don't have to write the post and let it marinate. Nope. This post is the result of two posts I have read in the last week. I wrote most of it in my head last night on my way home. After the first post, I was ready to let it go but when I saw the same thing in a second post yesterday? Well, the gloves are off. And the earrings as well.

What's the topic this time? Talking in movie theaters. I have one simple rule. If it's about the movie, then it's perfectly OK. Why? Because it's a part of my culture. And I was a little worried after my reaction to the first post, so I called several friends and family members. And I had an email exchange with another blogger on the topic.

My discussion with the other blogger centered around film as an art form. My argument is that if one were to go to a museum with a friend, one would discuss the art while standing in front of it. The blogger then countered that going to a movie was like going to hear a public speaker. Well, at least two of the people to whom I spoke on the topic confirmed that it is also culturally OK to speak when going to hear a speaker. One of these folks, my aunt, mentioned "call and response." Because how is hearing a speaker any different from hearing the preacher at the church?

And what pisses me off is not that people do not like this behavior. Instead, it's that their statements imply that their way is the "right" way. And even more so, what really pissed me off is that they do not appear to care why people would do this. And that shows a complete lack of cultural sensitivity on their part, in my opinion.

One of the folks to whom I spoke was Kate, my college roomie who got married back in June. She pointed out that when movie theaters were first created, going to the movies was a social event -- and of course, one would speak to others at a social event. She also pointed out that she enjoys the comments from others in the theater because it gives her new perspectives. Isn't that what art is about? Interpreting what the artist has presented given your own experiences? But your experiences may not be the same as another person's and so they can open a door to a world that you may not have seen otherwise.

And then we discussed our college experience. My post-high school educational experiences were in environments in which understanding of others was highly important. I served on numerous committees that made this the focus. People were encouraged to ask questions so that they could better understand one another. I guess that is the heart of the matter for me. When I read certain posts in the PRB and the subsequent comments, I find myself wondering if people are questioning their prejudices. Because we all have prejudices. If you say you don't, you're lying to yourself. It's what we do about these prejudices that makes the difference.

Finally, let's get to my reaction to this all. What I hear when someone makes a statement about how people shouldn't talk in movie theaters is that, once more, I am being asked to assimilate. (And if you have been in a theater in which the people of color are not speaking up? Yeah, they've assimilated. Because when I go to theaters in Berkeley, the audience is often mighty pale and I sit there silently. Because when in Rome... Because how we act when we are in the presence of the paler nation is not necessarily how we are at all times.) Guess what? I'm tired of assimilating. I'm tired of feeling like I have to give up everything that is me to fit in. (If my mother read this, this would be the point at which I would say, "Yes, the older I get, the more radical my thoughts become.") And damned if I haven't assimilated quite a bit. I regularly hear from older relatives how I am the "whitest black person they know." And so I am not going to let others erase the last vestiges of my culture that I hold at this point.

So the next time you hear someone talking in a movie theater, just think to yourself, "There goes the Empress again with her, 'Fuck you and your assimilation! I'm done with changing just because you seem to think that I need to.'" And also know that 2008 is officially the year in which I let people know in what ways they have pissed me off.