Holla, holla, holla, JANE

When did i EVER use the word Holla. Why is the word HOLLA all of a sudden totally representative of every utterance I use?

So I emailed Jane my latest blog post and they literally put it up in 5 minutes. What’s going on? Is it my pheromones?

But check it, ‘cus I sorta edited a video that i made with my phone and it’s really crap, ‘but it’s kind of funny.

Urban Dictionary definition of “Holla”:

holla 32 up, 25 down

1. To show a romantic interest in an individual esp. with exchanging of one’s personal information. Flirt.
2. An expression of joy or jubilation.
3. An affirmation to a question requiring “yes” or “no”, usually in a positive context.

1. Can I holla at a girl?
2. Holla! I won the game!
3. Are you going to the club tonight? Holla!

OR

holla 192 up, 86 down

1. A way for a brotha to say he wants to get in your pants
2. A pimp ass way of saying ‘what up’
3. May be used to end a conversation

1. ‘Ay, my boy right here wanna holla at cha’
2. ‘Holla, what you be doin’
3. ‘I gotta go, buh holla back.’

The Appropriate Amount

The cleanser I got from Missha yesterday, says to squeeze an appropriate amount for your body.

The Korean emphasis on propriety is a killer. What’s the appropriate amount? I use like, a lot for my body. Probably too much. Missha says “To give the enjoyment for the skin”. Hyperbolic yet honest. Those Koreans. Does not do much about the fact that this morning after hallucinogenically dreaming… that people were planning to cut my pet rats (I have no pet rats) apart and my boss was calling me saying : “I know you guys enjoy the pot, but that doesn’t mean you can be late!” and being woken up at 7:30 in the morn ‘cus my new roomie who looks like Lolita can’t get in the house even though she “knows doors” – a fuckin’ bummer to be alive. I was all regaling myself with : Self-Destruction is ova! over the weekend. Alas it tends to rear it’s overly serious head on a Tuesday morning after memorial day – maybe it’s all the cavorting and squeeling over meat barbecues in commemoration over the people’s death that is fucking me today.

I have two proposals due, I look like trash because it’s hot and i’m wearing little clothes, I just ate breakfast which I never do and vow never to do again, some Spring Fling guest got charged 3x accidentally by Network for Good and I just got peeled by the assistant exec – and face to face with the development department who’s already busy photocopying stuff, i suddenly feel like i have to: cover my tracks, use appropriate amounts, modify myself, soothe my surroundings, lick down my hair, get everything into HAPPY DAY order The godlike satisfaction of yesterday in which I conversed with feminist law students who pored over my “funky style”, who even said “You have a very sexual vibe” despite my protestations of bad posture, followed by grand ideas of world domination, has come crashing down to form a more than mediocre existence in which I’m just NOT PROPER. And I’m sick of it. It is quite sickening. Moreover, the blokes in the grocery store who look at me and say Momma, who stare at me as if they’ve never seen a woman before, really doesn’t do much for my self esteem – I’m realizing they are not responding to anything in me or my body – it says more about them and their unfamiliarity with other forms of women who don’t shout at them and order King Cobra’s at 10 in the morn – whom they perceive as haughty and out of reach – because i am as stern as possible to deflect them yet I try to be kind since they’re job is sorta thankless…I always say “Thanks, I don’t need a plastic bag.”

I thought the fact that I didn’t know my health insurance covered my hospital stay back in February was responsible for this nagging, worrying feeling that I’m slipping through the cracks of sanctioned citizenry, but perhaps what it is, is spending much of my life howling through the cultural clash cracks of a schizm’ed ethnic violent household…maybe that necessarily sends you into a doubtful spiral where the simplest daily tasks call into question one’s worth.