Cats 101 – Snowshoe Siamese

Grumpy Cat’s my spirit animal.

After a grueling day, I rested over a few drinks and began to wonder.  What breed is Grumpy Cat?  Thy master Google says she’s a Snowshoe.  A rare breed.  My spirit animal is a rare Snowshoe breed that originated in the United States in the 1960s.

A few more drinks and I found myself spinning down the rabbit hole of endless Cats 101 videos on Youtube.

Little mo’ whisky and it turns out that Maru’s a Scottish Fold.

Japanese Maru can trace his lineage back to a single Scottish barn cat named Suzy.  Talk…about…interesting.  Maru’s Japanese with Ginger roots.

I LOVE info-tainment.  It brings back the feeling of returning from recess, walking into class, and then noticing the TV cart in front of the chalkboard.

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Teacher’s tired, so we’z gonna pretend to learn something from the picture box now.  Ain’t much better than a stiff drink and pseudo education.

Continuing the adventure of discovering all breeds in Cats 101, I found out that I need to adopt a Ragdoll.  They’re so friendly that they’re referred to as “puppy cats.”  Mutha…fuck’n…awww.

One last whisky toast, and it just dawns on me.  Ho-ly…fuck.  I’m going to die alone.

What am I doing with my life?  I’m single.  I should be scoping out breasts and meeting chicks.  But, here I am…spending my free time checking out pussies.

Ugh.  I should sober up.

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I Like This Alot

I like this cup alot.

I’m a HUGE fan of Allie Brosh (aka Hyperbole and a Half).  She’s hilarious, beautiful, and broken.  She’s perfect.  I would crane-kick ice cream out my nephew’s mouth to meet her.

These are my new prized possessions:

alot of mugs

It’s alot of mugs!

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Every sip of coffee from my new favorite mug leaves me feeling warm and tingly in my tummy.  As I glimmer into the thoughtless eyes of my Alots, I can’t help but wonder…

Where the HELL is MY BOOK, TAMS?!

itsjohnkim-hyperbole-and-a-half-book

It’s getting close to TWO YEARS since I let my sister “borrow” my book.

Why do older sisters always take and never return?  Why doth sisters not honor baby-bro belongings?

I’ve even lost so many sweaters and sweatpants per a sister’s prerogative.  Why?!  It’s not like my size is comfortable.  Girls like their men’s clothes baggy.  I’ve got a lady’s figure.

Do older sisters really find comfort being cloaked in a baby brother’s girlish despair?  I should have some things of my own.  Let’s break the cycle.  I’ve already lost so much.

#givememybookback

Why’s Everyone On Facebook Discriminating?

Everyone’s a rainbow!

Why has everyone turned their Facebook profile picture into a rainbow?  Not cool to color-blindians, yo.  Gays and lesbians finally got their right to marry legalized by the Supreme Court.  Now that bigots have been disarmed of one more community to exclude, people are turning to discriminate against the color blind.  Read my lips.  Tear down this rainbow!

No more color lines.  There are no red states.  There are no blue states.  There are only the 50 states of grey.

I get it.

A landmark ruling passes our Supreme Court, so we’re celebrating.  But, is rainbow-fying your Facebook profile picture the best you can do?  Ladies, if you’re really celebrating, how about changing your profile picture into one of you tongue-kissing your hottest girlfriend?  It’s a celebration!  Fellas, we cool.  Keep calm and rainbow on.

We live in a socially networked world.  The power of our connections is in sharing our actions, not our reactions.

I’d love to see what you’ve done for the day.  Hug a stranger, then post pictures.  Adopt a kitten, then you best post hella pictures.

I care about what you do.  I don’t care about what you believe.  Social media should be an avenue to share the events of our lives.  Yet, we’ve fallen victim to sharing link-bait articles, time-wasting Vines, and everything else Buzzfeed.  Does this encapsulate who we are?  Or was the purpose to pressure each of us to take extraordinary actions in our lives, so we each have something worth sharing?

Again, I get it.  Love won.  But, what are your last acts of love?  Please share.

Did This Put a Little Happiness in Your Heart?

Look at this. Did you just get a little extra happiness in your heart?

Look at this:

cutepuppy

Did you just get a little extra happiness in your heart?

I’m a bit happier.  So, why am I the weird one?

Everyday, I’ll walk around the office and shove my phone in people’s face.  “Yo.  Look.”

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And every so often, someone will respond, “Uhhh…ok.” (~rolls eyes)

You know…if you’re “too manly” to “awww” at something adorable, maybe you don’t deserve the hair on your chest.  I smoke cigars, drink whiskey neat, and have burned ants with a magnifying glass.  And I ain’t afraid to fucking awww at cute shit.  I like puppies and kittens.  Dat don’t mean I can’t light a match off my stubble.

Society needs to change.  It’s time we all grow up and realize that incredibly charming heterosexual Asian men, with a chiseled marble chest, who may work in IT, and could even possibly have a blog named after themselves, are allowed to appreciate indisputable adorableness.

I like ice cream in a cone, and I ain’t afraid to eat a banana in public.  Because I’m secure.

I’m a man.  I like cute shit.

faye on my shoulder

Why Do Women Talk Through the Bathroom Door?

Honestly. I want to know. I’ve grown up with three women and no father my entire life, and I still don’t understand. Why do all women like to talk while I’m shitting behind the bathroom door?

heres-johnny

Honestly.  I want to know.  I’ve grown up with three women and no father my entire life, and I still don’t understand.  Why do all women like to talk while I’m shitting behind the bathroom door?

The bathroom door is closed.  I’d like some privacy.  We can talk later.  The bedroom door is closed.  I need some silence.  Let’s discuss later.  The car doors are closed.  For the love of God, you can yell at me later.

It’s a mystery that I’ve pondered my entire life.  The only time my college bros spoke into a closed bathroom door was to confirm if shit was being shat on the shitter.

If it were mere chatter, a man could try to zone it out.  But it’s always an onslaught of questions.

“Honey, what do you feel like for dinner?”
“When you’re done, can you take out the trash?”
“Babe…did you want the last macaron?”

I don’t understand, and I don’t know if I ever will.  Women will talk through a bathroom door.  The only way to get privacy back is to leave the door wide open and shit with your ankles behind your ears.  Trust me.  She won’t stick around for the show.