Month: July 2015

Creeping At The Gym

Is it ever appropriate to holler at a chick at the gym?

If there is a right time to do so, then I don’t know of such things. It’s one of those places where we are the least presentable. The sweat, the groans, the lack of breath – these are not ideal conditions at all.

I remember many years ago spotting a very cute girl working out by herself. It was a Saturday afternoon, the gym was less busy, and she was on the treadmill. I was on a treadmill myself, a few to her left.

I tried my best to be discrete, giving her a few casual glances here and there. Look, let’s face it, girls get checked out all-of-the-fucking-time, so why would the gym be any different? I believe I did a good job of concealing my glances – I’m Asian after all, which means my chinky eyes are harder to spot (a win for the yellow man for once).

I was single at the time, so of course the thought came across my mind. Should I go say something to her? I figured it would obviously be in poor taste to come up to her while she’s jogging on the treadmill. Hey, I know you’re out of breath and sweating right now, but I just think you’re the darndest cutest lil thang ever. No, not happening.

Okay, I admit it, I creeped on a little more. I saw her again at the weights – I have to lift weights too, y’know. She was either doing squats or dead lifts and I was probably doing some arm exercise of some sort. Still, it didn’t seem right to approach her while she was lifting.

I went to the restroom to relieve myself and when I came back, she was gone. I never saw her again.

I’ve read a few blog posts about girls getting hit on by guys at the gym and how uncomfortable of a scene that is, so perhaps in retrospect I should feel relieved that I never did anything that day.

But take solace, all you yoga pants wearing female gym goers, you aren’t the only ones that men look at.

I find myself constantly looking at other men when I’m at the gym. That may sound super gay, but it’s true. How did this dude get so damn ripped? Those triceps are insane. Holy shit, he’s benching four plates.

I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that I’m not the only man checking out other men. We’re all about the visuals anyway, and so whether we’ll admit it or not, we are constantly scoping each other out, examining each other’s muscle mass and vascularity. It’s a total creepfest at the gym, probably more so than the bars and clubs, because there men are checking everyone out.

Don’t worry ladies, we’re not forgetting about you at all. Despite the constant observation of other men, we’re still checking each and every one of you out too.


 

Okay, I’m joking for the most part. I actually hate talking to people at the gym and I get horrified whenever someone recognizes me during my workout. My ideal gym experience is going in, doing my thing by myself, never saying a word to anyone, and leaving.

But I am man enough to admit to a casual glance here and there. I actually think I glance at men more than women at the gym. Does that make me gay? I hope so, because then I could start making gay jokes.

– Chris.

Electrick Children

I don’t go to the movies often.

Most of the time, the movies playing at the theaters are all regurgitated versions of the same story. I don’t really like action movies, I hate the horror genre, and is there really going to be a better rom-com than When Harry Met Sally or Sabrina (the Audrey Hepburn version, of course)?

But it’s not like I never go to see a movie. I’m in a relationship, after all, and that’s part of the job description: going to the movies with your significant other. But I am very selective about what movies I choose to see at the theater.

Independent movies – that’s my shit.

I know, it’s a super art-pussy thing to say that I love indie films, but it’s true. I like seeing different. I like seeing creativity. I like seeing movies that take chances and aren’t diluted by the multi-billion dollar Hollywood entertainment industry. Give me something done by a struggling artist; it’s in times of struggle where art really transcends.

Which leads me to Electrick Children (2012). I got to watch this a few days ago when I was home alone. Emily really hates my taste in movies because she has an overall lack of imagination when it comes to the big screen. Yeah, that’s right I said it.

Back to the movie. No spoilers here, but it’s about a young Mormon teenage girl who runs away from home after finding out that she’s pregnant. That’s all I’ll say about the story. Hopefully, you’ll see it for yourself (It’s on Netflix, so even the laziest of you blog-reading slobs can muster up the effort to put it on your TV).

This movie is the directorial debut for Rebecca Thomas, who also wrote the screenplay. She was in her twenties when it came out, and she was raised up as a Mormon herself. What does this mean? Being young, Thomas was just dumb enough to make a movie like this, and it came from a personal perspective.

Think about that last sentence – I could have replaced Thomas with Scorsese to describe Mean Streets or Coppola to describe The Godfather. That’s all I need to know about this movie – I’m in.

The movie itself was, well, odd. But I like odd. Odd is good. Not in the “Oh this guy approaching me at the bar is a super weird creep” way but in the “Oh this guy approaching me at the bar isn’t throwing me the same ‘ol stupid pickup line” way, kapish?

One of the main actors in this movie is Rory Culkin. That’s right – I didn’t say Macaulay Culkin, I didn’t even say Kieran Culkin – it’s the third fucking Culkin brother. I am always team lesser famous sibling – Kevin Dillon, Elizabeth Olsen, and Frank Stallone come to mind.

Music. There’s a song that’s featured prominently throughout the movie. It’s an obscure new wave rock song by The Nerves called “Hanging On The Telephone.” Certain songs can really make a movie, can’t they? When I think of the movie Drive all I hear is the great song by College, “A Real Hero.” “Hanging On The Telephone” has the same effect with this movie. The version that gets played ends up being a cover by Flowers Forever:

An indie film made by a first-time writer/director featuring a C-List actor and a kickass song. I realize this post was a massive advertisement for this movie, but I really did enjoy it.

I mean, c’mon, let’s see some other shit than the typical Hollywood dross.

– Chris

 

Summertime Beach Bodies Part 3

Wait, did I say the goal was to lose 10 pounds? What was I thinking?

Actually, things are going well on the fitness front. I feel like I’m increasing my strength and muscle mass, which must be, definitely be, the reason why I’m not losing weight at a high rate.

Four weeks ago, I said set out a goal to get to 155 pounds by August. I wanted to lose the relationship weight I had gained over the past two years, and at the time I figured a simple target weight would be appropriate for my goals.

We’re only human, aren’t we? Sometimes, we’ll look back at the things we’ve said and the goals we want accomplished and realize that our perspectives change and evolve.

I know, it really sounds like I’m pussying out right now.

But let me finish. After four weeks – three serious weeks, really – I feel considerably better. I’m exercising more diligently and I’m approaching my diet with greater discipline.

By the way, I stepped on the scale this morning at clocked in at 159 pounds, so I am losing weight, motherfucker.


Today’s world is pretty much devoid of patience.

Does anyone know how to wait for things they want? Clearly, not many of us.

I have friends that will text a girl only to check their phones five, six times within a span of ten minutes, checking to see if she’s texted them back.

When we finish a season of Game of Thrones, we are full of indignant rage because we have to wait a year to find out what happens next (I think his eyes turned purple).

Which brings me to weight loss and fitness. If we’ve unlocked the technology to watch every episode of every TV show ever made, then how come there isn’t a magic pill that gets us ripped within a week’s time?

Where would the fun in that be?

Yes, there have been days when I didn’t want to work out, and there have been moments along the way when I wanted to go total #carblife, but overall I’m having an enjoyable experience. Not only do I feel better physically, I feel much better mentally. I am learning about the joys of a gradual crescendo.

Be diligent, persistent, and wait for the rewards to come in time. This can really be applied to almost anything in our lives.

Hopefully I won’t fall off the wagon, especially after talking all this shit. But this chocolate and peanut butter cake that Emily baked the other day that’s sitting in our fridge is really fucking with me.

Chocolate and Peanut Butter Cake

A badass chocolate peanut butter cake.

– Chris.

 

 

Remembering Single Life

Yesterday I came home from work to an empty house.

Emily was away on a business trip, and I had asked my parents to dogsit for us while she’s gone.

It was definitely a bit odd arriving to a silent home. Originally, I thought that I was going to enjoy having the house to myself. Everyone needs their alone time, after all, and this would be a brief moment to soak in the joys of solitude.

We’ve all heard it before – the grass is greener on the other side. When we’re single, we look at couples in love with equal parts of wonder, contempt, pity, and envy. We may think, How pathetic, they depend on each other for happiness. Why can’t they just be happy on their own? Losers. Or, Get a room you assholes. But deep down, perhaps we feel jealousy creeping up our spinal cords, longing to be with that someone to experience life with, who can tolerate us just enough and not fill us with shame when they see how ridiculous our naked bodies look in bed.

When we’re in a relationship, we look at single people in the same way, don’t we? We almost resent them for being so different, yet we envy their seemingly independent lifestyles. Our single friends can fly off to Rome on a moment’s notice without any permission, we think. They have all the time to sit around and do what they want.

Despite everyone being gone and my having the house to myself, I really didn’t do anything different. I didn’t have a massive freakout session a la Tom Cruise in Risky Business. All I did was eat some leftovers and watch a movie on Netflix – I ended up watching Electrick Children; kind of an odd movie, I think I enjoyed it, but am not completely sure.

This blog is called A Couple Talks. Emily and I started this whole thing because we thought we’d enjoy doing this together. That was the point and still is – together.

Thinking about last night though, I wonder, where the hell would I be if I was single? Would my life be that much different? I mean, I’d be eating out a lot more and the interior design of my home would be a lot worse – I never gave a shit about that before Emily moved in – but what about me? What kind of person would I be right now?

The core of who I am is the same, and I think that’s a good thing. I don’t believe anyone should completely change who they are on account of someone else. It’s like a meat lover giving up beef to be with a vegan – why would anyone do that?

However, I must say that I’ve improved in many ways being with Emily. I read a lot more, have experienced new things, and have become more open to new possibilities about the future. In a way, it’s like I’ve stayed the same person but in a more enlightened state. And isn’t that what we all want from a relationship?

Don’t get me wrong, being single is great. There’s so much personal growth that can happen being single. I know a lot of people are sick of dating, viewing it as a waste of time to spend an evening with a stranger which will most likely end up nowhere. And I know a lot of people also feel like they are doomed to be single forever, feeling like there is absolutely no way that they will meet anyone compatible enough to be in a lasting committed relationship with.

If this is you, the truth is, I have no idea if you’ll ever find that person you can spend the rest of your life with. It would be bullshit for me to be like, There there, you’ll meet the one eventually, everyone does. I have no fucking clue.

What I believe is this – life can appear to be completely random, and most of it is, but it’s really up to us to make of it what we want. Whether we’re single or in a relationship, we should always be evaluating the state of our lives – Is this how we want our lives to be? Are we in a good place? Are we headed in the right direction? What can we do to improve ourselves and our situation?

Our fates are not sealed. We have the pen and paper, so let’s be the ones writing our life story rather than having someone else write it for us.

– Chris.

Staring At Menus

On Saturday, Emily and I did the dishes four times that day.

We also took out the trash four times.

Laundry is also never-ending. As soon as we fold up and put away a clean batch of clothes, there’s another batch that needs to be washed. The piles are meshing together. It’s only a matter of time until I put on a dirty pair of boxers by mistake.

Dishes. Trash. Laundry. All day, everyday.


I love Del Taco.

Apparently, this fast food chain only resides in certain states. It’s the better version of Taco Bell.

As much as I love this place, I do encounter a problem with it from time to time. I see the menu and there’s so many damn options.

I imagine a hot chick has a similar problem: she has so many suitors that she ends up staying single. I don’t know what to order sometimes, and it bugs the shit out of me.


There is clearly a problem with abundance.

Why does the world hate America so much? Because they see us crying about how we’re eating too much, that we’re always buying new clothes, and that we celebrate the wealthy and vain, elevating their status to reality TV star.

Why am I always doing dishes, taking out the trash, and doing laundry? Probably because there’s so much goddamn food in my fridge, so much shit in my house, and too much clothes in my closet.

I live in a three-bedroom condo with two empty rooms. That kind of sums it up right there.

Do we really want choices? Do we want to eat at a place like Del Taco where you can get a taco, burrito, quesadilla, burger, or nachos; or do we want to eat at a place like In N Out Burger where there’s only three things on the menu?


 

We just don’t know what we want.

As a kid, I never really knew what I wanted to be when I grew up.

At restaurants, I hardly ever know what I want to order.

I’ll spend an unreasonably long time searching Netflix for something to watch because I simply have no idea.

Abundance and choices are inherently good things, but most of us are too dumb to take advantage of them.

I’m going to make a list. I’ll write down what I want and what I need in life. Maybe this will help me to stop staring at menus so much.

– Chris.

 

 

A Guide to Getting a Girl’s Digits

Last night, our friends got together to celebrate Chris turning another year wiser.

We went to this bar/lounge/club in Orange County called The Commissary Lounge. I would like to rename this place The Meat Market. I have coined it The Meat market because my girlfriends and I could feel the eyeballs scanning us from head to toe as we walked into the empty room at 9:30. Picture a big warehouse, empty in the center of the room, and the perimeters lined with couches, a full bar, and a DJ. As the time passed on and the center started filling in, I did notice some women whenever I scanned the room for Chris. But it was definitely a sausage fest from where I was standing. So much of a sausage fest that there was an endless rotation of men who approached we three girls the entire night.

Credit: Yelp

Credit: Yelp

As one of Chris’s friends puts it, “You know you’re a hot commodity when you’re drunk and you didn’t even pay for a single drink.”

Chris has written posts about how he thinks men should approach women. Given yesterday’s eventful night, I’d like to share a woman’s perspective of what works and what doesn’t work. Without further ado, I share with you a tactical guide to getting a girl’s number.


WHAT WORKS: Approaching a girl and asking her common questions like, A/S/L? I must have told at least 5 guys that we were from Arizona and I now live in Fullerton. *Yawn*.

WHAT WORKS BETTER: Small talk and basic get-to-know-you is okay, but what really stands out is when someone can spark a common interest or make an interesting observation off the bat. It is also refreshing when someone can show off their sense of humor or personality instead of interview you. Maybe I am annoyed by the interview questions because I’m a recruiter Monday-Friday. Leave me alone.

Example: A guy started asking a series of “Would you rather” questions. “Would you rather be fat with a beautiful face or have a model body with an ugly face?” … “Would you rather live life to the fullest and die at 35 or live a stable, ordinary life until 60?” … “Would you rather have hair all of your body and not be able to shave or be hairless everywhere?” The defensive shield lowered with every laugh.


 WHAT WORKS: Early on in the night when the room was empty, us three girls sat on the couches. We were engaging in conversation until a pot head randomly sat down on one end and proceeded to have a conversation with Ms. Hot Commodity. This approach was okay, as he ended up conversing for around 15 minutes. Apparently he was pretty deep with the aid of Mary Jane.

WHAT WORKS BETTER: A really outgoing, confident dude came up to all three of us on the dance floor. What was really smooth about this approach was he didn’t single any one of us out. But what he was able to pick up from this conversation was that I was in a relationship, another was engaged, and only one was available. Even then, he continued to engage with the engaged girl, making jokes like, “How did I not notice that? Look at that ring. That must be a VS2.” Girls look to their girlfriends for approval and by being friendly with a girl’s girlfriends, you’ve just made allies. Plus, if you are able to learn multiple girls are single, you can then make your move instead of strike out with the, “Sorry. I have a boyfriend.” move. Often told by single girls as a shield.

WHAT DOESN’T WORKA dude literally came up to me and introduced himself as we shook hands. The next question he asks is, “Where are you from?” As I internally sighed, I explain I’m from AZ but moved to Fullerton. He follows up with, “What made you move out here?” I replied, “For love.” What happened next? This fool literally walked away. Good luck getting close to my single friends!


 WHAT REALLY WORKS: Be genuinely nice.  There were a group of guys towards the end of the night who offered to buy us girls multiple drinks. But then one of them realized Miss Anonymous probably had reached her limit, and offered to get her water. Not just tap water but bottled water. This doesn’t really matter too much to me because when I’m dehydrated I could care less if it is filtered but bonus points to this super considerate nice guy.

By the way, this guy was the only one out of all the sausages who ended up leaving with a number. 🙂

dwight the office

#Winning

~Emily

Alcoholics Not Anonymous

What does it say about me that I plan my carb intake around alcohol?

On one hand, I think this is dumb. I’m trying to get in better shape, after all, and there aren’t many things that can be more counter-productive than drinking.

But then again, I can just drink till I puke it all out anyway, as I’ve done before.

On the other hand, this is just my nature. I’m of Korean descent, which means I was born to drink. Apparently, we drink twice as much as anyone else on the planet.

I wonder if there’s AA in Korea. Oh, that’s right, they meet on Sundays and call it church.


I know a lot of you women are fed up with men and their inappropriate behavior at bars and clubs.

But really, what’s worse, a sober creepy guy or a drunk creepy guy?

Here in LA, every girl assumes that every guy is hitting on them. While this is true most of the time, there are those rare instances when a guy starts a conversation with a girl without the intention of making a move.

It’s called gay men approaching women. They never get turned down. We can learn something from gay men. Their game is on point.

But we don’t have time for that. We’d rather just get wasted, cast out our rods blindly and hope we catch something.

What’s the point of this message? I don’t know.

Actually, I do know. It’s that I really want a beer right now.

Cheers, it’s Friday.

– Chris.

 

Change Your Shit

I come across this all the time.

It’s people asking Why? How come? What am I doing wrong?

Here’s the answer: You S-U-C-K.

Let’s face it – we’re egotistical beings. The world as we see it revolves around us. Oh, but you have kids? I’m not talking about you – you’re already dead anyway. This is for those without child, those of us who still have a chance at happiness in life.

Everything is about ME. What am I doing with my life? How does this affect ME? What’s in it for ME?

And when things don’t go our way, we wonder what’s going on. But it’s never our faults. The incorrect, disappointing parts never have to do with us – it’s always them. How come this is isn’t happening for me? Why can’t they see this correctly about me? In our world, we’re the only ones with an index finger, and we’re pointing it at everything and everyone else.

Listen motherfucker – When you point your finger, three fingers point back at YOU.

What am I talking about? I’ll give you some examples.

I played volleyball in high school, since I’m such a stud. During my senior year, I was the starting outside hitter for the Varsity team. Feeling all cool and shit, I thought my place was secure until my coach benched my ass. After sitting on the bench for a few games, my coach called me into his office and ripped into me. He called me out on my lack of effort in practice. At the time, my response was – What’s wrong with him? Can’t he see that I’m much better than this other guy he’s playing ahead of me?

You want a better example? Okay, fine. I have a certain friend. He’s a really good guy (I try my best to be the only asshole in my social circle) and for all intents and purposes he’s a normal dude, except for one area – he is horrible with women. I don’t even think I can say he has zero game, it’s more like negative five game. It’s really painful to watch him in meat market-type atmospheres, y’know, places where girls order blue drinks.

He has massive approach anxiety. He’ll just stare at a girl all night instead of saying hello. And by the off chance that he engages in conversation, he’ll inevitably end up offending her. He tries to neg, or tease, but homeboy is not smooth at all.

I try to be a friend and point out where he’s going astray, but he’s not having it. In his world, he conducts himself in a perfectly fine manner. It’s the girls that have the problem.

This is what I’m saying, and I’ve said it before: If you keep doing what you’re doing, you’ll keep getting what you’re getting.

Change your shit up. You can’t seem to shed that extra belly fat? Look at your diet, work harder. Girls aren’t giving you any attention? They’re not the problem, it’s YOU. Work on your sense of humor, dress better, get in better shape, be interesting. Your douchebag of a boss isn’t giving you the promotion you think you deserve? Why not just work harder? Prove to everyone that you’re awesome.

Do the things you need to do to get what you want. Stop looking around and blaming everyone and everything else. The sense of entitlement some people have angers the living shit out of me. I deserve this. I should have that. People are allergic to earning.

Look at the lottery. I see that shit go up to astronomical amounts on a regular basis because this society is full of people who don’t want to earn their fortune. Instead of working their asses off, they want to magically catch lightning in a bottle and win it. I don’t even know if I’d want to become a millionaire that way.

Actually, that’s a lot of fucking money. It would be pretty awesome. I should go to Seven Eleven right now.

– Chris.

All Asians Look Chinese

Be honest.

We all look Chinese to you, don’t we.

You probably went to our About Us page, saw our photos, and said, “Great, just what I need – another Chinese blogging couple.”

But I don’t blame you. Shit, I’d say the same thing. Aren’t there enough Chinese people in this world already? Do we really need another Chinese couple to make more Chinese babies? Why are Chinese men so bad at pulling out? Don’t Chinese women believe in birth control?

Here’s the thing: I am not Chinese.

Is it racist of me to hate that most people assume that?

Look, to the Whites, Blacks, Hispanics, etc. – I get it. We all look the same. Who cares if someone’s Vietnamese or Japanese. It’s all the same shit to you. Y’all got untrained eyes. That’s fine.

It’s when my fellow Koreans and other Chinese people think I’m Chinese that I get bothered.

When I step into a Korean restaurant, they’ll start speaking to me in English. In their minds, they say, “Psh, I gotta speak Engrish to this Chinese motherfucker.”

The other day, I was at the market when an old Chinese lady came up to me. No hello, no excuse me, no asking if I was Chinese; she just started speaking to me in what appeared to be Mandarin. Granny might as well have been speaking in Dothraki – I didn’t understand a damn thing. Luckily, Emily came to the rescue and helped her with her questions.

This is my existence: while most non-Asians think we’re all Chinese, even the Asians think I’m Chinese too.

I’m right about at that point in life where I’m done correcting people.

Am I Chinese? Yes.

Am I American-born Chinese? Sure.

Am I half-Asian, half-white? How’d you know?

You must be good at math, huh? Look at my face.

And if anyone asks me, what are you? My response – Can’t you tell I’m black?

 

– Chris.

Go For The Girls With Blue Drinks

I might be an asshole for saying this.

Actually, I’m definitely an asshole for saying this.

The other night, I was at a bar with some friends. There was actually a line to get in – a big one. Imagine seeing dozens of people outside of a bar, foaming at the mouth to get in and give their money away in exchange for an alcoholic beverage at a ridiculous price.

These types of places are a bit strange, particularly the establishment-customer relationship. Young adults are always looking for the new hot-spot so that they have some place to be on a Friday night, and these bars need the customers to stay in business.

So who needs who more?

But back to my asshole tendencies. So we finally get in. The music is blaring. There’s a live DJ at this bar and he’s playing some horrible Top-40 hip-hop, per the usual. As we enter, the body heat hits us in the same way humidity in a tropical country would when exiting the airport. The place is packed and the cacophony of voices from the patrons act as background noise. Any semblance of conversation is going to require screaming.

We’re standing around, checking out the scene. Then I turn to one of the guys and tell him:

See that girl over there, with the blue drink? Yeah, you should go for girls with blue drinks.

What am I trying to say? Blue drinks will fuck you up. Whenever I see a girl holding a blue drink, I instantly assume that she’s okay with getting hammered, aka having a good time, aka open to being hit on by another guy. It’s like an open invitation to try out your charms on her, her alcoholic flag planted for all males to see.

Of course, keep it appropriate, though. I’m not that much of a jackass.

Is this always true? Of course it isn’t always true. But when it comes to meat markets like this bar, everyone’s judging and prejudging everyone else anyway, so why not use our observations and intuitions to our advantage?

It’s funny how the drink someone holds will lead to all sorts of conclusions. If I see a girl drinking straight up whisky, I’ll have this weird mix of being fascinated and impressed while assuming that she’s a bit of a tomboy.

If I see a guy drinking his beverage out of a straw, I’ll automatically judge him. C’mon you pussy, put that dainty little straw away and drink like a man, will ‘ya.

Anyone who takes shots at a bar is a douche, male or female, especially if they need a chaser to follow it. By the way, what’s the word for a female douche? I’ve always wondered about that.

And back to the blue drink. It’s usually an AMF, or Adios Motherfucker. Think about that – the drink is called A-D-I-O-S-M-O-T-H-E-R-F-U-C-K-E-R. Why would anyone ever order that?

You’re such an asshole, Chris. Who cares what people drink? They’re just having fun. You’re just hating. You must be a miserable little shit.

Jesus, calm down. I’m merely making some observations about people here. I’m allowed to formulate opinions, am I not? Hell, I’ve used those little, pathetic straws before for my pussy cocktail. Don’t get it twisted, I’m not saying I’m above all this, but I’m still able to point out idiocy and buffoonery as I see it.

It’s quite a conundrum – I hate judgment but I love to judge. Sue me.

Oh, by the way, the friend ended up not even approaching her. We just ended up drinking and talking to each other all night. She enjoyed her blue drink, and he enjoyed his blue balls. Just another night in the city.

– Chris.