First world problem.

Uh. I think my dad has recently acquired a Facebook account.

How many "Pablo Tung"s could there be in the world? A Google search yields like, 3. 1 of them is the Facebook account mentioned above. But how many Pablo Tungs are there in the world who are friends with my cousin and also some other old Chinese dudes that I recognize in his friends list?

He totally has Facebook.

But you know what, he hasn't added me, which I'm glad for. He'll see comments about ass-to-mouth, some crude ass shit I often write, and on top of all that, a link to this blog. I think he and I both recognize the awkwardness and discomfort it would cause if we were friends.

Case in point.

I know a lot of people are friends with their parents on Facebook, but uh... they're usually 1) white, and 2) they have nothing to obscure from their parents. Regardless of the fact that my parents are pretty liberal, we're still a Chinese family, and I have plenty of things in my life (including but not limited to images of myself completely inebriated or in compromising positions) that I'd like to not so blatantly acknowledge as I may via Facebook. My mom also seems to imply that she doesn't ever tell him about my relationship status, whatsoever.

If he adds me... I'll deny. And I'll probably call him and be like, "So, dad. Facebook? Nah. Let's bond in person, yeah? Cool."

I honestly doubt that he'd want to be my friend anyway. His OG Chinese homies are probably enough.

Yeah, okay. Settled.

This first world problem is solved.

His.

His tussled hair.
His doe-eyed stare.

The curves of his lips
along the ellipse of my hip.

His honey-scented skin.
As I breathe,
I breathe him in.

The trail of my fingers
down the river of his spine.
They linger.

Our mirrored smiles.
Our melting breaths.

I could stay,
I could stay here forever.
If only for a while.

I am not dead.

I lay there amidst shredded zucchini and broccoli -- my body contorted, fists clenched, jaws tight.

I heard Ham's voice near me: "Can you get up? Are you okay?"

I grunted my best "no" as the pain convulsed through my back, shooting through my fingertips. I was fighting to breathe.

Without going into much more detail, that's essentially the summary of my second bike accident. This time bloodless, but I'm pretty sure this residual pain is some sort of internal bruising from doing a 360 over my handlebars and hitting the cement, shoulders first.

Apart from that and the fact that I've sucked at blogging, nothing else is really all that exciting.

Spent 10 days in New York, mainly for the Legal Summit, where I realized that I am supremely lame in comparison to the mad partying skills that 40+ year old attorneys at the office seem to able to execute so effortlessly. While they partied until 6 am, totaling an impressive 3 bars/clubs after 4 hours of an open bar during dinner, I was back in my hotel by 2 am, kneeling over on the mercilessly cold tiles of the bathroom, puking diligently into the toilet. All the while, poor Al was on webcam with me, listening to my drunken ramblings until I paused and said, "Okay. I'm going to put you. On mute. ..." That's when I disappeared off the right side of the screen, only to reappear a minute later, slightly glassy eyed and, well.. my stomach a little more empty.

The studying is still never ending. The test is in less than 3 weeks. I'm chugging onwards. Chugging. Chugging. Trying to stay positive and not let it exhaust me, but, full-time work, class and studying does get rough.

You know what, I take what I said about nothing else being all that exciting back.
There is something exciting. Someone exciting. Incredibly exciting. And I have a tickling inkling that this excitement isn't going to die for quite some time.