Dear Yoga Pants,

Though I have enjoyed my time with you, I have come to the realization that you suck. You've helped me through denial of losing weight and you've made my butt look grand on various occasions (like that one time at the gym during those lunges, you know what I mean), I have a bone to pick with you...
Do you know why you only come in dark colors?! Because it's slimming, yeah, not helpful. Thanks but no thanks. And you come in a variety of cuts, like Capri and shorts and such and such. I know what you're up to, and just letting you know, I'm onto you. (two fingers pointing to my eyes then fiercely pointing back at you)
You're not that great anyway, you're like the pretentious cousin of sweatpants but you judge...oh how you judge.   It's not right, it's not...what kind of fabric stretches 20 different ways? Unreal. Listen, Mr. Fantastic-magic-cotton, you think you're stealth but I know what you're doing to women...to society! And again, I'm watching you, so you plan your moves and once you get out of child's pose and pounce, I'll be there like a Lilly in the heat.
Needless to say, it's on.

Love,
Vanny Pants.

Where the "magic" happens...and by "magic" I mean "nothing".

 So for the summer and being inspired by Stumbleupon.com (damn youuu!) I decided to fix it...I wanted to paint the room ivy green and decided it was too dark. Scrapping that idea, I took leftover paint from my aunt's house (she lives in Canada so bringing over gallons of industrial sized paints over the border was pretty fun, I guess you can say I'm the Pablo Escobar of paint, doing lines of paint is harsh on the nose...
 Anywho, the room is three different colors and according to my colorblind father, "it's tacky..." yeah, you try to think of a comeback for that. The predominate color is a cool lemon yellow, followed by a bigger wall that's supposed to be "rustic" looking as opposed to "I can't mix paint evenly" looking, ya dig? And finally a small purple wall as a "statement" wall. So that's that.

Those lanterns are made by your truly, you'd be surprised what paper mache and yarn will get you. 

BAM! Hand-painted leaves, how you like me now?! (oh and by hand-painted I mean Sharpie) I'm on a budget. I'm a college student, slack is what I should get...

My poop brown wall, it gives the room...umm...character.  And my hipsterish-ghetto bookcase (lackthereof)

It's a small space so I wanted it to look kinda quirky without being so cluttered...you think Better Homes and Gardens will approve of my attempt? I think so. Well, maybe not that dainty, more like Martha-Stewart-Prison-Break-phase...

That little fella is Gus, my bedside companion. Oh and that's the view of when I dream.

Ghetto lack thereof bookshelf

For those of you whom don't know what TOMS are, for shames! Look them up now. I mean it. 

My wall with the miscellaneous photos I framed to make it look important. You like? I don't care if you don't,                                      no really. I don't.

 
                                               The door that leads you to my humble abode.

The closet space, back of the entrance, part of the purple wall...all in one snapshot.
I hope you liked it, not really.

A season of 'Roo followed by 'Loo...

Last year I went to Bonnaroo, pretty crazy experience I had... marinating in mine and other's filths can lead to extreme bonding and moral repugnance. For those of you whom don't know what Bonnaroo is, shame on you...no really, for shames. The 'Roo is this huge music festival that is held in a vast farm that MTV  bought over not too long ago. During the off season of The 'Roo, this patch of land grows corn; America's corrupt crop. Bonnaroo had it's 10th anniversary this year. A decade of nonsense. The festivities are held on the first weekend of June, when the weather choices are "hot" and "hot as hell". Anywho, just an hour in some-odd direction away from Nash-Vegas is this prime hot spot for middle-aged Woodstock remnants to sway along to folk noises and for the younger generation of hipster music lovers to flock to.  Amongst this crowd (last year) was myself. My body intake of liquids was beaten by the latter, I think I had sweat my weight's worth of liquids....I know, I know...FOUL. The camping, my first camping experience was pretty knarly...sleeping in a 100-some degree temperature tent and the lack there of tempurpedic sensation of laying on tarp, not showering for 4 days and using 8 baby moist-wipes as a bath to feel remotely content with oneself is only the tip of the petri-dish of sacrifices one makes for music. Despite the living conditions, I'd do it again in a heartbeat. The lineup was insane and the free-samples tents set up from the sponsors are pretty damn swell..after all cheap is good, free is better. I think I drank my weight's worth of the gritty-ever-so-delicious Odwalla, and also the Odwalla tent is air-conditioned so laying there, comatose, was a daily event. Anyway, the artists that performed last year were: Jay-Z (shit my pants-good), Kid Cudi, Phoenix (Thomas Mars is the best-est and if you disagree then you can shut your face, shame on you.), She+Him (Zooey Dechanel is the cutest thing on 2 feet), Ingrid Michealson (didn't know who the hell she was before the 'Roo, love her now...), Mumford and Sons, Bruno Mars, Stevie Wonder (The God of Gods...ugh that man's voice maketh my heart go pitter-patter), Kings of Leon (eh, it was okay), Deadmau5 (who the hell is "dead-mau-five?), Fanfarlo (underratedly great), Steve Martin (yeah, the actor man..he's even better on the banjo), Damian Marley and Nas (um need I say more?), Norah Jones ("Snore-ah Jones"), Regina Spektor (I love that soul-child), and soooo much more. What I hated about this was that the bands that I liked played at the same time..you see, they are sadists, the people that plan the schedules. Pure evil. So I caught glimpses of bands here and there and rushed off to the next stage. The stages are the next: demonic choice of names...The "What Stage", "Which Stage", "This Tent", "That Tent"..and so on...what the frack?! So that was nice and confusing once the peyote kicks in. Oh and for y'all whom haven't visited the Nash-Vegas, please do. It's probably my favorite North American city so far...it has everything. Great food, great people-watching and pretty damn good environment. Given I was in Brentwood, which is a bit more upscale (I stayed with my friends, the Bichells..a shout-out to you guys, oh and your home...absolutely beautiful...I want one just like it, no joke. Just letting you know, if it where to ever go back on the market it's mine. Fo Raelz.), but regardless, pretty banging time. 

The gate that led you into the stages, i.e: the Ellis Island to the Americas.

Anywho: This year, Lollapolooza. It's on. Tickets have been booked, schedules and plan of attack has been mapped. Headliners: COLD-effin-PLAY. Did you hear me?! COLDPLAY, Muse and Eminem...(not as excited for them..sorry guys.) But, but, but; Beirut (I've been waiting for about 3 years to see Beirut), The Naked and Famous, Bright Eyes, Explosions in the Sky, Lissie, Two Door Cinema Club, Ratatat, Kid Cudi, Deadmau5, Skrillex, Damian Marley & Nas, The Foo, Cold War Kids and a shit-ton more. It'll be the bee's knees. I might die of excitement, we'll find out. Andwho to lead up to this, I will be exploring Chicago and such for 2 days. I have already bought my hippie headband that looks as though my brain is being constricted (oh it is) so I am pumped and ready to partay. DOn't worry, for the kids at home, I willst reportez back to y'all. Just sit pretty and wait for that posty-post.

I'm on a boat mothaf*cker donchu eva forgit.

During my winter trip to Vietnam... so lemme elaborate, quickly on winter for those whom are blessed enough to not have winter past by in their chain of events.  Winter is the bastard child of snow, it's the bitchlover of precipitation. It sucks. If you've watched Elf and think that snow is the bee's knees, I want you to hit yourself with a shovel. Just remember that those winter wonderland scenes were filmed in studios...AT ROOM TEMPERATURE. Because for like 4 or so months, you're knee deep in this puddle of pure-unadulterated white shit...it doesn't stay white long though...it turns a loverly shade of dookie, (it's mud, snow and unmentionables muddled together) Shoveling that shade of love is the biggest pain in the ass, because you know deep down in your soul, it will be a common (DAILY.) event on your social calendar. Oh and those snow ball fight scenes that look oh so fun? They're not. Once you're out there for an hour or so, you'll start to lose feeling in your hands and feet...yeah, that's called NERVE DAMAGE. And then you can't feel your face...not like the sensation that you get from doing a little too much cocaine (trying to appeal to my crowd of prisoners) nor is it the lack-there-of sensation/emotion you get from botox (shout out to the Newport Beach stay-at-home-moms)...this is different, and it is nothing you should ever, ever pine for. It's nothing you want for your kids, for realz. Kids play dirty, they play to win nowadays in snowball fights, so packed inside those snowballs are chips of ice and when they hit you, you'll feel extra special because your bruise will take the form of that snowball, only it'll be purple and hurt all over and you will look extra-special. Ya dig? I hate winter. 

Snow can S my Bs.

Anyway...So whilst we were in Vietnam, we took a minor trippy-trip to Nha Trang and we went on this boat tour thingy, too bad I can't drink (allergic to the pimp juice) or else this would have been an even bigger blasty-blast. Welcome to my life. We board this rickety boat, mind you the trip was 8 US bucks a head and beyond makeshift. 

 The parting ways picture...pretty dramatic eh? That's because I contrasted the hell out of it.

 Sunny day, the "docks"..I guess.

 Makeshift drums...Yamaha exclusive.

 What our boat looked like...out-of-body-shot

 eh?...eh?....

 They had this odd floating device so you can see the bottom to check out corals and such...

the "wet bar"...this whole trip was McGuivered.

 One of the guides dressed up as this foxy piece of meat....

 The cruise band...they were singing Wonderwall (with thick Vietnamese accents and mucho feedback), I wish I can make stuff like that up, I just can't...

In the most ghetto aquarium...those are legs of a mer-man...the dude was cleaning the tank whilst visitation hours. VILE.

Anywho, I had fun. There were a shat-ton of Europeans, most of the nations were well represented as well as a lonely Canadian man...I met a fellow Ithacan though, small world...even smaller boat.

...oh and I'm Yellow

As you would have guessed (due to the name and your natural human-instinct amount of racial profiling) I am colored or of a different culture...I'm an odd shade of Vietnamese (part, small part, Sri Lankan) Yellow.

On a recent (not really) trip to Vietnam, I had a little camera fun...
I have a Nikon D5000, Niko, he's my little gem...I was enjoying his company whilst I visited my crazy heard of family members. It was nice, the trip, we took excursions up north towards Hue and Nha Trang then towards the end we went to Thailand...more family there. Our family is pretty damn vast, I mean we do breed like bunnies that just got out of prison.


So here's a little eye candy...

It's a hipster shot of Chicago O'Hare International Airport...in other words, pain in my ass...
My only memories of this place is laced with wretched layovers until they miraculously get their grease-monkeys to fix whateverthehell they needed to fix and double-digit-hour layovers. So yeah, I have a bone to pick with y'all. Put they did win me over with this pretty cool strip of purgatory land before we reached our gate...Nice, eh?

These little birdies came into my life and entertained me during my layover in Chi-town.

Hong Kong is so...well, Hong Kong. This place is like a Sony masterpiece on acid and this is only the airport. It kind of looks like the innards of Optimus Prime, no?

 The above is my neighborhood, it's pretty simple living I guess, or so it seems. The streets of Vietnam is littered with madness, morning markets host creatures of habit and the city square of Saigon is a center stage for the best people-watching...I wouldn't have it any other way.

 We belong to this temple, my family and I, all of the monks here are female. Hospitality radiates from this place.

 A purple lotus...is this a lotus? Okay, purple-lotus-relative.

Part of the temple yet again.

I had arrived a couple of days before New Years, but since I'm a snooze and not very party-girl-esque I had pooped out from jet lag at 10 or so. Like I said, I'm a snooze.

umm... Greetings?

So anywho, I am Van and this is my blog.
I will tell you more about myself as this blog unravels itself and so on and so forth...
A couple of minutes ago I had deactivated my Facebook account, so I am here with the rest of the Facebook-rejects. It's a refreshing way to live life, no? Not at all actually, they try to trick you to stay but I grew a set and said nope. If you haven't done it, try it...go ahead, just go to ACCOUNT SETTINGS and DEACTIVATE...go forth my son, you are a man now. But I will warn you that they shun you, Survivor-esque...oh they do...they pretend like you never existed, yep. So feeling a little lonely, I have come to the conclusion that I need to send these odd talkswithmyself to the void, meaning you.
Technically I am a refugee...I drifted off the island of Facebook, signed prenuptials with Justin Timberlake and Mark Zuckerberg, let them keep the furniture and kids...and now I'm here. I have to say it's quite nice here...very personal. But maybe it's because I'm having talkswithmyself...
So a warm welcome to you and me.
Until then...