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| Hey all!
I just drove back in from SF and man... it was a fun weekend.
It was a time of celebration, reunion, shit-facedness, and most importantly reflection.
But there's good news and bad news.
Bad news first: This will be my final Xanga entry ever.
EVARRRRRR!!!!
After this, my account will be frozen as it is, never changing ever again.
The good news??
I hope to make this one my best one yet.
MY OPUS!
Well, I'll probably fail, but I'll give it a whirl.
As to why I'm ending it here, we'll get to that.
So let's boogie.
---------------------------------------------ALL YOU LEADY????-----------------------------------------
So there were a few primary reasons for my trip to norcal.
One of them being that my cousin just graduated from her Master's program at Berk.
Dude....Berkeley graduation....
...that shit, is like.... JUST as boring as it sounds.
Like... aneurysm-inducingly boring.
You got like 12 old people giving commencement speeches, and these friggin speeches were BAAAAAAAAD.
My only relief from that crap was the refreshment table afterwards.
Low and behold, there was CHAMPAGNE!!!!!
mmm... naw, nm it was apple cider.
bye bye, potential redeeming quality~
So ya, it was all bad.
But all my congrats and all my love to my cousin. I'm proud of you, noona!!!!
The next day, that cousin(Yungmi/Yumz), my other cousin Myungjin, Myungjin's husband Ben, and I went to play an exciting game of tennis.
Guys vs. girls.
Guys won!
OB KOSU!!!!
Man, you shoulda seen me.
I was like diving for balls and stuff :
freakin amazing.
......
...but I was rusty as hell...
.... -_____-;;
whatever, we won.
Me and Ben shared a truly bromantic moment afterwards: 
naw....
So later, I met up with my homies Daniel and Eunee, and we hit up the hot SF Korean joints.
We didn't wanna get drunk, so we just bought a bunch of beers and some things of yogurt soju (for Eunee).
I don't touch that shit...
I'm a man...
I drink like.....
galbi.....
...soju?
anyways,
so we get some serious buzzes going till my other buddy Jungmin shows-up.
oh man..... that guy....
Fool got us totally code-red obliterated.
You know what happens next:
The rest of the night was a blur.
I think I washed my hair without shampoo or something, because the next morning my hair looked like soft serve.
alll... swirly-like.
But after like, half a thing of gel, I was off to San Jose to go see Sheenae.
And man it had been way too long.
It was so good catching-up,
having nice intellectual conversations:
no seriously though,
it was so good to see her...
...
So after that, it was off too SD again.
I didn't know my way back from SJ, so Sheenae so kindly provided me with directions.
ya..... that didn't work out so well.
Like....
I don't even understand the next event that transpired.
Ok, so essentially I'm supposed to take the 101 S to the 152 E to the 5 S.
And that point, all systems go.
easy enough.
but....
...something just like.... happened:
Like, what the helLL!??
I really should have checked the directions myself, because after looking at a map later on, everything
became elucidated.
Serious Bermuda Triangle shit.
Those of you Californian topography uninitiates might be confused as to why driving the 101 was a problem.
Here's why:
This is what taking the 5 south looks like:
it's butter.
Here's the 101:
Like forreal.
My drive kicked up from 6 hours to 10 hours.
But man, that drive is friggin beautiful.
You go through mountains, by all these cozy rural towns, through grassy plains, by beaches...
wow.
But driving by all that nature and being stupid delirious from the pounding hangover and extensive driving, I started having this like weird existentialist experience.
I reflected on my weekend in norcal, and each aspect of my trip made me like review my life...
it was kind of a trip.
So just a disclaimer:
I've had a lot of people ask me if the stuff I've written about in my xanga is forreal.
Yea, it is...
Though some of it's exaggerated.
The rest of this entry is about as pure and unadulterated as it gets though:
So after hour five of driving, as I gazed upon the setting sun over the waters of Santa Barbara,
I got lost in deep thought
Then it started getting heavy:
I realized that I just couldn't stop thinking about her.
Everything in my life segued back to her.
People always say, "there are other fish in the sea."
Sure, that's fair enough,
But man, after 2 years (which contained a whole lot of dating)
No one compares.
She was like the perfect fit.
She's the peanut butter to my jelly...
...she's the juice to my gin...
...she's baby bear's porridge...
...she's the boogie to the boogie to my boogie boogie bang bang...
...she's the happily ever after....
...she's the prize in my cereal box...
...she's the blue shell to my cheap-ass Mario Kart victory...
...she's the lone pickle that makes my McDonald's cheeseburger worth eating.........
...she's the  to my 
But what can I really do?
I guess it's just not my battle anymore.
I felt that after all of this self-realization,
I finally got a 20/20 view of who I was,
and that revealed to me who I'm becoming,
so it's time to level-up.
I penned this Xanga since my angsty highschool days all the way through my tumultuous college years.
It's time to close that chapter of my life, and with that, my Xanga.
Who knows what life will bring next?
Will God provide me with the career I've always envisioned?
Will He keep my friends and family close?
Do I get the girl in the end? (haaaa.... right)
Anyways,
thanks to the readers that kept encouraging me/inspiring me to do this thing.
You guys have been putting up with my crap for like 7 years.
Y'all money honey.
And with that,
I declare that this...
...is...
~THE END~
-J
| | |
| Herro.
I usually update this thing following some kind of major event that occurs in my life.
This is one of those times.
So earlier today, I sliced open my thumb and my pointer on a fresh microtome blade.
I pulled on the tissue block to change it out and the lock wasn't engaged so the thing slid down straight into the blade with my fingers still stuck in the mount.
Boy did I bleed.
GUSHED.
Red gauze matted the bench.
I had to rush to the hospital and get my fingers sewn up.
My hat off to the inventor of painkillers.
So why do I mention my very bloody ordeal?
Isn't it obvious?
I can't play videogames anymore!
Que lastima, son!
So as I bid adieu to my days of gaming, I reflect upon the titles that got my gaming career rolling.
Remember those games from the 8-bit era?
I've always wanted to make my own, before any of this biology aspiration nonsense.
Yknow, the kind with the really surreal hand-drawn cover-art:
But the actual game looks like....
...completely not like it:
Like there's totally random-ass stuff in it like walking homicidal sushi.
But it would have been cool, because there's all kinds of weapons you can collect,
Like the Mythic Sword:
And you would travel through vast worlds and even adventure through the ocean:
Yea. Those are whales you get to kill.
And fight in epic boss battles:
And at the end of your battles, you find your beloved princess...
OR DO YOU!??!?:
But what adds depth to the game is the "choose your own adventure" aspect of it:
And then, if the hoards of enemies are too much for you, you'll hit the ever-infamous game over screen,
replete with an encouraging yet completely obliterated English proverb that is an amalgamation of random sayings pieced together in random fashion:
ARE YOU BRAVE ENOUGH TO PLAY
EXCITING JON!?
-J
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| Werr Herro Herro~
I hope everyone's been doing well.
Did everyone have a most sexy Valentine's?
I must admit, my Vday wasn't all that kickin.
I went to On Broadway with a couple friends, and I just didn't have that much fun.
It was quite perplexing, this.
I am normally quite the dancing fiend, but this time it just wasn't happening.
And I think I know why...
I didn't drink.
As sad as this might sound, I realized that the drink makes all the difference.
Music is more entrancing,
The lights are prettier,
Clubs looks heavenlier,
and....
........ people become more attractive.
Yes, this is the pivotal factor.
The number of individuals you would approach and dance with plummets considerably!
This attractiveness in a club, or "hollerability", and the bizarre phenomenon in which alcohol manipulates hollerability levels is something that has been researched thoroughly and I will now delve deeper in order to demystify this mystery.
A LESSON IN HOLLERANCE
One's hollerability is an extremely crucial factor in a club.
Though traditionally, it has been easy to distinguish hollerables (pulchritudinous individuals) from inhollerables (facially challenged individuals),
when alcohol becomes a factor, such simple distinctions become less clear-cut.
It is common for people to immediately consume 4-5 alcoholic beverages upon entering a club and promptly utter a holleratorial remark at the nearest hollerable,
but I urge you, readers! Look both ways before crossing the street!
Though you may spy someone oozing with hollerability,
Make sure you're holleration is not misdirected......
....AT THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Oh! Look away, my blood-crying eyes!!!!!!!!!!!!!
You see,
the typical hollerability composition at a club is delineated in the following diagram:
but it's a completely new ballgame when alcohol is removed from the picture:
as was previously mentioned, hollerability decreases drastically.
"But why," you might ask, "is this such a big deal?"
And to you I say, "obviously you didn't see the second picture."
But aside from enjoying clubs less, and possibly going home with someone who is in serious facial deficit,
inebriated club going raises the likelihood of people engaging in unnecessary hollercations(an altercation sparked by a hollering attempt):
So what is the lesson we can take home from this?
Is it to not drink at all when clubbing?
Heavens no!
That's the whole reason my night was ruined.
BUT,
I must say, you notice some interesting things when you hit the dance floor with a clear head.
For example, you might see a dude spittin some whack-ass game:
............
....to a very attractive pillar:
or you might see that one dude, dancing hella stupid:
which would be okay..........
.....................
...if he weren't there all by himself:
So next time you go clubbin, just make sure you know why you're going, that's all.
AND HAVE FUN!
-END-
-------------------------------------AFTERTHOUGHTS-----------------------------------
***********************************************************************************
-J
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| Update time, yo!
****Just a quick disclaimer: I'm like hella exhausted right now, so I might be speaking a tad of gibberish****
So much has happened in my oh so long xanga absence.
I just got back from Berkeley a few days ago and I'm tired as hell.
My primary objective was to work with a professor at the UC so that she could get a glimpse of my splendor and maybe want to take me into her lab for grad research.
Looks like it might have worked!
She told me I won't have to worry about admissions or anything.
"Holy shet!", says I.
So I might be relocating back to home sweet Norcal in the Spring.
Not set in stone,
but we'll see.
-----------------------------------------------
Let me spit some words about girls for a pinch.
When I was in Berkeley, I met a ton of pretty girls.
Like, pretty like Whoa.
I tell you, Berkeley aint the same as how I last left it.
Gone are the unshaven legs, 100% organic clothing, and hair all in disarray.
Alll..... hirsute-like....
I had lost sight of the beauty of Norcal women.
But this got me thinking about other things.
More serious things..
I have at times been called superficial;
that I appreciate girls for their beauty or whatever.
and to all these upon-JonSin-frowners I say,
"so the eff what?"
Of course I do!
So does everyone!
Guys appreciate girls' beauty
Girls appreciate girls' beauty
That's just how everyone's wired.
Girls are just prettier than guys.
That's why there's this double standard.
Guys don't have to be pretty, or even smell that good.
Don't blame me. Blame society. Blame Laguna Beach, or whatever.
It's not all one-sided. Guys are supposed to be strong and like... know tools.. yea... stuff like that..
but anyways,
It's not like I like girls exclusively BECAUSE of their looks, but no doodoo it's a factor.
It's really an appreciation that spawned from childhood experiences.
More specifically, it started when I met Monica~*~*~*~*~*
Oh Monica.... just thinking about her makes my heart go pitter pat.
all aflutter n what not.
I remember the time I first laid eyes upon her.
She was 14...
I was 5:
words could not express how beautiful this angel was.
Not only was she beautiful, but she was kind, everyone loved her, and her voice flowed like honey from her perfectly pink lips.
Monica was the basis upon which I gauged all future girls that came into my life.
And that is how the "Monica Standard" came to be.
The Monica Standard represented feminine perfection.
Anyways, my mind meanders.
There's been something bothering me lately.
So say I meet a pretty girl but I find out she already has a boyfriend:
Like, I can't help but imagine her with really good-looking guys. Yknow?
But reality ends up being much more frightening.
and seconds later, this.....:
I vomited a little as I drew that picture.
It's a crazy phenomenon, this...
What compels a beautiful girl to pursue a relationship with..
... a gremlin.
After a ton of research and conversation with actual pretty girls, I have come to this conclusion:
Oftentimes girls are afraid of being with guys who fear commitment. They also think that good-looking guys are the least likely to be able to commit.
So that's why they resort to uglies.
It's the horrifying truth.
Take a look at this graph:
It's a travesty!!! It shouldn't be like this!!!!! NO!
Also, the uglier the guy is, the more attractive the girl looks in comparison.
So girls, give good-looking guys like JonSin a chance.
Fortunately for me, there are girls that are willing to take a chance and go out with a dashing guy like myself.
Speaking of which, I leave you with a cartoon depicting a somewhat pertinent incident with me and the girl as we browsed good ol' facebook.
Merry Christmas, kids
-J
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| I'd just like to give a quick shout-out to my wine crew.
We have a motto,
and that motto is
that we don't get into shenanigans unless we have a half bottle of claret in us.
Pinky-up shenanigans is what I like to calls it.
Thanks Vickie and Jimmy!
If it weren't for you,
I'd be drinking alone.
And some call that "alcoholism" which I understand is frowned-upon.
-J
P.S.- Xanga update proper is coming soon. I'll talk about Vegas, pretty girls with ugly boyfriends, new jobs, Gamestop Girl, and the mythic "Monica Standard" on how I rate attractiveness.
It's gonna be a beefy update.
Stay tuned, puppies.
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