got yer attention ehh? but really- i find this to be such a beautiful picture. Ive always thought the use of nudity, specifically female nudity (is there any other kind?) was gratuitous in movies, that the 'it's art' was a flimsy excuse for men to feel justified in showing tits and ass. however- the moment i saw this picture- i saw the truth of that statement. this picture is pure beauty. college girl is at a protest and she's giving everyone the big ol' FUCK YOU finger. she's topless and smoking a cigarette and she is daring you to deny her. love love love.


my poor little neglected piece of blogsphere... im treatin you like the ugly rebound we all ignore the next day.
apologies to my 3 readers (me myself and i, har har). so technically- apologies to myself... oh rather, shame on you (me) motherfucker! nobody puts baby in a corner! pull your (our) self absorbed head out of your (our) asshole and get back to cultivating this literary masterpiece that has yet to blossom.
like i keep telling myself in due time, my friend.. in due time.

so what has girlninja been up to?
has she been keeping up w/her writing? nooooo
has she been keeping up w/workshops? nooooo
has she been keeping up w/reading? noooo..
has someone been a bad girlninja?? yessss
so i go through peaks and valleys of pure motivation and utter indifference. just the other month, after finally utilizing the online search/hold option at my friendly local library- i went flipping crazy and checked out like 30 books at the same time.
it's the Chinese in me. the moment i realize something is free, a bit of hysteria bubbles up inside me and i will over zealously rape it of its resources.
my books ranged from the serious to the not so serious. the not so serious included vampire academy (book 3 was epic) and true blood (oh eric eric eric).

and im not sharing my 'serious' list with ya'll.
i dont want to be judged! my definition of a 'serious' book right now basically comprises of anything that doesn't involve vampires and hot guys.

going slight off off topic but this reminds me of a workshop i took in which our instructor asked us to reveal our current reads and favorite authors and/or books. everyone else had piped up with some amazing and completely unknown, never heard of titles and authors. unknown to me anyways. and i assume they are amazing because everyone else would nod or voice their approval and agreement.
when it was my turn- i blurted out murakami. because it was the one writer w/street cred that i knew and really enjoyed.
if i had said i loved mystic river by dennis lehane (which i do) im sure they would have tarred and feathered me.

needless to say, my non serious collection was read within the first few days. and my 'serious' collection has been languishing on the floor of my bedroom, collecting dust and library dues.

so that's the update on girlninja.
she hasn't done jackshit to be productive.
i say this all w/cheekiness but in all honesty- this site was created w/the sole purpose of being an oasis and collection of my written creative expression and ideas and thoughts.
the more it languishes, the more a bit of me languishes alongside it.
my soul needs the creative outlet yet i hear the devil's call-im too easily distracted w/shiny bright things and fun social activities.
i hope the new year will grant me the will to stay strong to my ideals.

even though no one reads this blog, i fucking love it.
everything about this blog is... well me. in essence i love myself. HAHA. loving this blog is sort of like masturbation- it's a guilty pleasureand in the end you are just loving yourself! stay true playa!

wedding notes

my bf attended a wedding last night. at each of the tables were cards for each of the guests. Each card had a prewritten situation involving the newlyweds, S and T, and a proceeding blank for the guest to then fill out.


Example:

On the night of their wedding, S said "_____________". T then said, " _________".

This is what the bf wrote:

On the night of the wedding, S said "I'm going to hang out with my friends". T then said, "Cunt".


one can only imagine the endless possibilities of mad-lips absurdities that can occur.

ZAnPon

Dear ZAnPon,

though your name is case sensitive, i forgive you. i even made a trip up to NYC to see your exhibit at the joshua liner gallery. i was too shy to approach you but i'd like to think you received the love auras i was mentally sending over. well, in case you didnt- i was the girl who screamed ZANPOOOONNNNNNN before being escorted out by two hipsters (damn those hipster) i love your creative mind. please marry me. i realize i am a bit older than you but i believe in botox.

xoxo

GIrLnINja in love

your firsts

you never forget your firsts...

the first kiss from the sweet lips of your very first real REAL boyfriend (age 13)

the first time you experienced the exhilaration that is hooking school (age 14)

the first time you used a fake ID to hit up a club. rip avalon. the place had no ac. it was disgusting and sweaty. i still remember brushing up against one of the walls and feeling the fascinating sensation of something that can only be described as slime. it was unpretentious and had no velvet rope complex- hence every weekend was something of a cretin/douchebag convention. however. it was the first place chill enough (some would say criminal, i say chill.) to let a 17 year girl who looked 12 get in with a bad ID. and for that, avalon you will always have a place in my heart. (age 17)

the first time you got piss drunk, vomited all over yourself and fell asleep in a pile of your own retching. (age 18)

the first time you realize that dressing up like a slut is fun, yay! (age 19)

the first time a lesbian offered to give you a mindblowing orgasm in the bathroom (age 20)


the first time you realize that dressing up like a slut is well.. slutty. you like to keep your slut tendencies discreet. (age 21)

the first time you realize you might possibly not want kids (age 22)

the first time you read twilight. (age 25.5)

the first time you broke your louboutin cherry. in fact, u slut u went off and brought 3 pairs! magenta horatios, tortoise prive, and black leather criss cross <3 momma loves you! (age 26)

and

the latest FIRST to be added to this monumental list.

the first wrinkle. 'nuff said. all is lost. (age 27)

Grub Street Workshop 1a

I realize i forgot the most important moment during my grub street workshop.
per our instructor, we had to go around the table and introduce ourselves.

so off the round table it went:
one was a teacher's assistant for english at an university
one taught french creative writing @ harvard university
one went to harvard divinity school
one went to MIT
one was a grad student/scientist

and there i was... the random blip on the screen.
so i started off by telling everyone my name. and then my occupation.
"i work in finance. doing analyst work @ jpmorgan. it's not the most funnest job but it pays the bills"
alas.
i caught myself too late. those words did indeed pass these lips of mine.
i had uttered 'most funnest'.
yes. most funnest. bastard child of Bad Grammar!
finer artists (pronunced arteeste) have died a more noble death by words.
it is the most amateur grammatical faux pas to ever be uttered in that room, im sure.
polite smiles all around.
i was branded before it began... i am the workshop's official street urchin from da streets.
while everyone was listing their favorite authors, (a myriad of unheard of authors whom everyone was nodding in affirmation at, the only name i recall is toni morrison), i listed nick hornby and dave eggers as my favorites.
so i didnt fit in.
but you know, maybe a younger more immature me would have lied and tried to bluster myself up to something im not. but at this point in my life, i dont care- i will occupy whatever ragamuffin title they give me with confidence. this world would be too boring if everyone was the same. i can be the eclectic yet adorable step daughter of the group. klutzy, delightfully in tap with popular culture. not quite an intellect but i make up for it in charm.

signing off:
the riff raff. much love. <3

Grub Street Workshop 1

so in a valiant attempt to really anchor my decision to take my writing seriously i signed up for a six week workshop with the fabulous boston based grub street writers community.
The course i am taking is called 6 weeks, 6 stories. as you can guess, the concept is to write six weeks in six stories.
today in class, we were introduced to the concept of the six word story and the hint fiction: 25 words or less.
our instructor started out with an example of a famous 6 word story: Ernest Hemingway. his friend bet that hemingway couldn't write a six word story. he did. and he won the bet. his story is: For sale: baby shoes, never worn.

Another example:

Longed for him. Got him. Shit.
by margaret Atwood

to me, the whole concept of the six word story is to try to think of very archetypal words, phrases, things that are very emotionally charged, deeply implicit that even though you're not writing out a full story, those short six words tell a whole story.

this is my six word story:

i love him cz he's rich.

as for my hint fiction: 25 words or less:

she was the surgeon that performed my heart transplant. i fell in love with her and she broke my heart.



next class: flash fiction:
List story: write a story in list form 250 words or less.
Write a "complete" story that is one sentence long.
stayed tuned!

btw, this is the coolest!
The world's shortest horror story: the last man on earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock at the door.
(author unknown)

gluttony is one of the seven sins

Our company has a corporate sponsorship with LA sports club, sports club of choice for trophy wives, bottle poppin girls and other assorted members of the Females for Labor Liberation Union.
We had a seminar today on healthy living. As I'd do just about anything to get out of doing actual constructive work, I was the first person to sign up.
Upon entering the seminar, they took my body fat percentage. The lady administering the test was making small talk, saying "you gotta love technology. this little machine though small and portable can give you an accurate reading in seconds!"

Then upon seeing my results, she kinda went "huh..."
silence.
then said, "there must be a mistake"

She proceeded to announce to the entire room that "in the entire time i've been a trainer, i've never seen someone of those proportions with such high body fat." then she emphasized quite soundedly again, "there has to be a mistake."


Actually, indeed such a feat can happen. I do indeed possess that high of a body fat %.
i took the same test a few years ago and had similar results. not to mention, i was warned by my doctor that i have dreaded high cholesterol! woe is me- no more fried oreos!

my friends, there is fat girl inside of me. tis true.
i eat cake like an asian girl eats rice. and im an asian girl so i know what i'm talking about.

So i had to awkwardly interrupt and confirm my bastardly 27.5% body fat.
everyone was aghast.
thankfully im not the kind to get offended.

how obnoxious is my bday invite?

Titled: to my wondrous friends and karaoke lovers

In commemoration of fourth of july, the joys of karaoke and the bday of yours truly, I would like to invite you to a night of DK, Drunken Karaoke. this isn't karaoke, this isn't singing, this is Drunken Karaoke. this is indeed the drunken (wo)man's official sport and past time.
I will be cohosting this little shindig with my cohost Sake, native of Japan. Sake will be joined by his cousin, Vodka, of the Russian Vodkas.
i wish to enjoy that wondrous night with everyone here who has touched my heart in one way or another, or in the case of henry, just simply touched me. so please for the sake of our country as it is fourth of july, come out and sing.

ghetto love

so i just finished reading the brief wondrous world of oscar wao. boy can write. i love that he has this very distinct voice. and i love that he's this ghetto intellect and i love me some ghetto intellects. they are intensely fresh and clever and can talk wheelies around any subject, slipping in and out of street vernacular slang like it's a second language.
junot diaz is definitely a new generation of hip intellects. and like i said, i love me some hip intellects.
his voice is so distinct. as a fellow writer, i am colored GREEN with envy at his ability to articulate such a clear and contemporary voice. his words are pure madcap dexterity. he is a ghetto fab hyperkinetic spitfire ninja throwing words like daggers, a verbose motherfucka who can talk an item to its death. he spins words like tornadoes and loops you for a ride. and it's a crazy ride. diaz, i bow down to you. i hate you so much.
now i must make my leave so i can turn the lights off in my bedroom, curl up in fetal position and sing creep by radiohead softly to myself as my teardrops soak my pillow.

be back

currently trying to recover my Fighting Spirit and Idealism.
they went missing when i let myself get seduced by that tempestuous vixen Discouragement.
expect a long and bloody battle. i plan on beating that bitch down.
will return victoriously, w/plans of hanging her severed head over my doorway as a cautionary tale for those that dare follow.
and her entrails? i will brew a stew and feed it to my dogs.
ok. enough. i don't even own dogs.
correction: will feed to stray dogs. heh heh.



ps. we can't forget tiananmen square.

female fixations

she is one spicy kimchee. yummmm
has there ever been a more korean name than... grace park?

sometimes when i'm bored...

i take my shoes out of their boxes and look at them.

in fact, right before this entry, i was traipsing around my room w/two different pairs, which was what prompted this little entry here.

i love being a girl <3

the murakami test

i speak of the one, the only, haruki murakami.
let me first preface by saying i've read a few of his novels. and i didnt like any of them.
norwegian wood?
the windup bird chronicles?
hardboiled wonderland and the end of the world?
a wild sheep chase?

why yes, i have read them all and yes, i did not enjoy any of them.

why do i continue reading them, you may press.

well i read them because he is a god amongst mere mortal writers. so i've been told.

murakami has his own unique way of writing and only those that truly get it, share in on his brilliance. they are in fact, brilliant themselves for being able to appreciate his brilliance. well, that was my logic.
and that my friend, is the murakami test.
do i have the goods to appreciate murakami's warped and confusing mess of disjointed stories?
understanding his novel is sorta like solving a riddle, wrapped in an enigma twisted within a mystery while intoxicated. can it be done? is it meant to be done?

sometimes i would lie to myself and say i liked it. and i would truly believe it too. for a milli second.
and then i would feel bad because i would realize lying to myself is sort of like masturbation. in the end, you're only fucking yourself. okay okay i apologize for that joke. it's been heard around the world ten times over by you, me and anyone who has fb. but it was so appropriate, no?
man, if i invented that joke i would be so proud of myself. not because it's funny, but because it's so appropriate! you can end just about any discussion with that line because anything can be alluded to fucking yourself.

_____ is like masturbation. in the end you are only fucking yourself.


"working this job is like masturbation. in the end you are only fucking yourself," you can proclaim before quitting your job in a blaze of glory.

"being with you is like masturbation. in the end you are only fucking yourself"
that is the ultimate breakup statement.

and the list go on and on.


so back to the topic at hand,
of course my never getting murakami made me very sad. as i felt that i wasn't a true writer because i never "got it". i didn't understand his magnetism obviously therefore i was merely just a simpleton who was better off reading dan brown novels like the rest of the masses. i don't get to cross over to the league of writers. i was a fake writer, an amateur journal writer. oh those goddamn journal writers are the worst. they write one journal entry of clarity and think they can rule the world.

so i marched on and read his novels nonetheless, hoping against hope that one day, i would in fact get it and finally be a real writer.

well guess what bitches... i finally "got it". go get it gurl.
i read Kafka on the shore and was blown away.

i have arrived.

a party is a-coming and everyone is invited.

or as my friends say- party in my mouth and everyone is coming.
ok that was too easy.

a promise to myself

i am making myself promise not to write egotistical and mindless dribble of my daily going-abouts that involve details of what i ate, what i did, how i feel and when i took a shit.
it takes a certain amount of ego to accomplish a journal of that feat and though i do indeed possess that ego, i don't however have the energy to do so. ive been told im a lazy piece of turd. by my bf, no less.
so fear not, this is a promise to myself and for myself. a guideline of sorts for myself to follow.
additionally, i've read plenty of blogs that have flamed out into the ashes because the entries become tediously personal introspections turned public. (oh the weeping!) this will not be a weeping journal. i wont discuss my feelings. (rejoice boyfriends across the world).
there will be no boo-hooing of any sorts. ok maybe there will. but i limit them to once a month.

young and dangerous

"My nightly bloodlust has overflown into my days. I feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy. I think my mask of sanity is about to slip." - American Psycho

female fixations

I'm a big fan of devon aoki.
she's kinda weird looking.
wide face, sharp slanted eyes, tiny little mouth. kind of like a chinese moon girl lost.
those aren't normally characteristics that define what "beauty" is. (fuck conventional beauty)
she has an odd ball face and that is precisely why i love her so.
she has that zany out of this world look to her. it is tinged with a slight shade of indifferent sadness- like an alabaster doll.
i coincidentally too have that same wide face, tiny mouth, those eyes and the sadness! oh the sadness! i am constantly told i look either sad or pissed off. i cannot help it- tis the territory that comes with having this alien face.
our similarities endear her to me all the more.

this is the song that never ends...

my little pea brain is kaput.
i feel like if i shake my head, i will hear a tin can rattle.
i need my wine, where's my wine?
wine is my life elixir. like the Romans.
or at least if my childhood memories of disney's fantasia are still in squeaking working order, i recall the Romans drinking grape wine all day.
for some reason, i can only write when i am just a tad intoxicated. is that odd?
i used to think it was until i realized that wine was the key to the writer's cockblock in my head. wine loosens me up and allows me to be unconfined. to be free with no shackles. kinda like a busty girl with no bra on.

similar to a girl i used to work with back in college, she needed heroin to break free from the mental block that was keeping her from the writing potential she had. not that i endorse heroin. i am way too much of a straight laced prude to do that. though id be lying if i said i never thought about it in a fantasy segment, in which i take heroin and then unleash upon the world a magnificent torrent of fierce ground breaking writing that will become my debut best selling novel, the likes of which has never before been seen in the history of publishing. naturally, this will all occur in a fevered all nighter. yes, that's right. in my fantasy, i will pound out my entire 300+ page novel in a possessed by demon state of mind with sweat pouring down my face. it will be a maniacal marathon of finger jabs/keyboard abuse, of which once i finish, i will promptly pass out dead to everything for three straight days, and once i do awake, i will awake to an IV drip on my arm in a hospital bed.
cue end of fantasy segment. dim lights.


you know, i like to consider myself a writer.
and like any writer, i contemplate what type of novel i would like to debut. a fanfiction best seller like twilight? i mean, doing something as fanfiction trashy as twilight has always struck me as a cop out. that's easy money and no glory. not to beat up on twilight, as i do adore it very much but writers are all about The Glory and The Critical Adoration. yes, on the capital letters emphasis.

should i write something irrelevantly witty like nick hornby or dave eggers? i don't know if i can accurately mimic that kind of presumptuous self congratulatory banter. the problem with that kind of writing is it has to be done successfully or else it's just bad, annoying self congratulatory banter. like a fake hipster. and there's nothing worst than a fake hipster.

and my third choice has always been young adult fantasy. though i didn't quite grow up a sci fi/fantasy nerd (that only happened later on in my 20s. yes im a late bloomer to sci fi/fantasy... how ironic is that? most sci fi/fantasy geeks are themselves late bloomers and i am a late bloomer to their late bloomer), i've always felt a connection, a type of kinship to that type of story telling.
i think the rule to writing an amazing YA fantasy book is to be as ridiculous and far out there as possible. sort of like taking a simple classic child's story and then churning it through the crackpipe so it comes out all psychedelic and fucked up with just a morsel of creepiness.
so those are my three genres of choice and i've been contemplating the three of them for years now.