Phhheewwwwww....

Okay, everyone relax, crisis averted.....

It was, indeed, the scale and not my extra love handle pushing me to 183. I am actually 174. I'm no longer obese, just slightly chunky!

Yay for me!

I swear, I'm not a drama queen!

PS - though I am no longer obese, I'm afraid I can't say the same for the giant penis still haunting our gym......

I'm so depressed......

I AM FAT!

Now that I have that out of the way, I can continue on with my entry. How did I come up with this realization, you ask? Well, let me tell you.....I went to the gym today and joyfully pranced through my usual routine. I haven't been as strict about going to the gym as before because I was seeing results - abs are showing through, calve muscles are now visible, and my ass, well, no complaints there in that department yet. So feeling a bit confident, I started to slack off from going to the gym 6 days a week to...haha, yes, 2-3 times a week, and I also started to eat less and less healthily. I don't know why this came as a surprise to me when I hopped on the scale and saw 1-8-3 flash in front of me. With a chuckle, I dismissed the reading as mere miscalibration on the machine's part so I happily stepped off to adjust the calibration just to find that there was nothing wrong; it was, in fact, my extra love handle the size of a giant tumor hanging from the side of my hip causing it to weigh in close to 185 which is half way to 190 which is 10 pounds away from 200 which is obese for an Asian person. Yes, the word behemoth comes into mind when you say Howard.

183, MY GOD that's huge! That's 1/10 the weight of a baby elephant... god I'm an elephant! Goodness...I have never been more grossed out...oh wait, yes I have and it all happened during the same escapade to the gym....

So there I was depressed and contemplating locking myself in the steam room to burn off the lard when I saw the most disgusting, disturbing thing of my life. I was getting ready to hop into the shower when this beefcake came next to my locker, which I immediately dismissed as beefcakes are not my type. I paid him no mind until he decided to drop trouse....and OH MY GOD, let me tell you, his penis was the single most massive thing I have ever seen (other than my love handles, of course). My jaw dropped to the floor, which is still probably two inches shy of his massive naughty bits. The grossest part is that it was soft, flaccid, whatever the PC term is these days . I could not stop staring at it, of course, by the lack of a black eye, I say I did a pretty good job at not making myself too obvious, but then again, it wasn't that hard as I had to keep kicking it away so it would stop spilling over to my dressing area. I mean, how is that possible? Nature could not have been more cruel to this poor, poor man. Even though we live in a society where a man's masculinity is measured by the size of his one-eyed snake, I can't see anyone being proud of having something like that. It's like having a third arm (I refrained from saying "third leg" as that's just too easy...) or a police baton permanently attached to your pelvis region; it's a handicap, or I would even argue that it's as far as a mutation. Where would you go to the bathroom? I mean, God honest truth, this man's penis hung half way down to his knees. The distance between your ass and the water floating in the toilet bowl is only so far, how does this man shit? OOOKkkkaaaayyyy....My goodness I'm grossed out and with vomit in my mouth, I will stop here for sake of humanity.

The House of Wax....

I awoke yesterday morning in a pool of my own sweat and shaking, uncontrollably; I had just had a very bad dream; one of the scariest I had since a long time. Staring at my hands, I couldn't believe what I had just seen in my own mind....

It was late one dark, foggy evening in London, I was walking up and down Marylebone Road looking for my friend, Mikey, who had just moved to London for school not too long ago. I don't remember much as I still suffered from the 5 hour jet lag, but all I recall is that we had made plans to attend the new exhibit opening gala at the Madam Tussaud's Wax Museum. But come to think of it, I never gotten a call from Mikey himself. I received an invitation card in the mail with poor handwriting that didn’t' really resemble that of Mikey's, but of course, I didn't think much of it at the time.

I flew to London, checked myself into Le Meridien Piccadilly located in the epicenter of the West End with immediate access to London's "Theatreland". I had spent most of my morning trying to find the perfect outfit on Regents Street, Old Bond Street and Knightsbridge at the top of Sloane Street. Surrounded by "Sloane Rangers," as that was the label given to female socialites shopping in this area, I battled my way into Harrods’s for a quick gift, as I believe it's impolite not to bring a gift to whomever invited. Quickly after that, I went back to my hotel and retired to my suite to rest in preparation for the evening to come.

My driver is late, as usual, not wanting to miss the opening of the new exhibit, I took the tube and gotten off at Baker St. and that's where I had started my story. Walking up and down Marylebone Street, I did not recognize a single person attending this event, nor did they look like they were dressed to attend a 5-Star Gala with the Queen as one of the honorable quests. What I find most weird is the fact that once you get off Baker Street tube, to find the Madame Tussaud building is unlike finding needle in a hay stack simply because the building is signified by a large green dome that can be seen miles away, but for some reason, I couldn't find it. Maybe it's the fog, and maybe it's the darkness, I don't know, but I just couldn't find it. I looked at my watch feeling certain that I was way early; the watch showed 10:45. "That's not right," I thought to myself, "I'm 15 minutes early so I should be able to see people by now." Sensing that something may not be right, I dashed for the museum entrance just to find complete darkness inside. Only dimly lit lights spotlighting the mannequins in the museum were able to be seen from the door. Gently I reach for the door handle and with ease; I pushed the doors open and stepped inside, much to my surprise. No locks, no alarms, just pure silence. The hair behind the back of my neck started to stand erect and chills begun to run up and down my spine; something is definitely not right.

Maybe it was my overly heightened senses, or maybe it was just pure neurosis, but the smell of iron washed over me. I've been to this museum several times before, but do not ever recall smelling rusty iron. Immediately I dismissed the smell and attributed that to my overreaction of the situation, "Everything is fine," I say to myself. As much as I try to keep my composure, I am only able to succeed to the degree of keeping my legs from stepping on one another as the deafening silence entombs me. As I walk further and further away from the door, the darkness gets thicker and thicker which does nothing to ease my neurosis; it's like adding salt to open wounds. Pretty soon, I saw nothing but darkness and my hands became my eyes feelings for any object that may point me in the right direction. As for what I'm looking for, I have no idea. The right direction was to find Mikey and to get the hell out of here. The smell of iron gets stronger and stronger until suddenly, the floor was taken from under me and I land flat on my butt; I had slipped on something wet.

I expected to find the marble floor in this museum to be cold, however, a warm sensation started engulfing my bottom, creeping higher and higher until it's up on my lower back; something's wet and warm and the smell of iron is suffocating. My mind is racing and I'm starting to get dizzy from the smell. It was like nothing I had ever smelled before. It was a mixture of rusty iron, salty ocean water and warm humidity like on a hot summer day standing in a stagnant bayou. After 5 minutes or so, I was able to compose myself enough to find the key light sitting my left pocket. The keys jingled a deathly tune as I pulled them out. The liquid covering my hands were very slippery and I had a terrible time flicking on the light, though thinking back, I had wished the light remained off; they say innocence is bliss. Fumbling with the key light like bobbing for apples in a barrel, I feel something tickling the back of my neck again and this time, it wasn't chills or sweats - it felt as though I had backed into a freshly weaved spider web. Attempting one last time with the key light, I finally flicked it on and what I saw next would haunt me for the rest of my life.

Blood was everywhere as if the place was a Halloween fun house and kids were splashing around in red Cool-Aid amusing themselves while they're parents chatted away outside planning their favorite Trick Or Treat route around the neighborhood. This, however, what I'm witnessing before me, was no Halloweens hokes; I was covered in blood and I was by myself. No kids screaming and punching and pushing, it was just me, until I looked up and discovered that what I thought was spider web was in fact no web at all. It was human hair. 17 human corpses were hung upside down from the ceiling held up only by bike chains tied to their feet. Their heads were partly severed from their necks as if done purposely to drain the blood out from their lifeless limbs. Each had their eyes fixed on me as if to warn me to get out before I become the next victim. Scrambling to my feet, I tried to look for the nearest exist but could only see darkness as my key light was only able to show me three inches in front of my face. As if someone had hit me on the back of my head, my eyes started to fade out. "No, not now, I need to get....oo...uuu..tttt". Just like that, tunnel vision invited the darkness and once again, silence entombed me.

I woke up the next day in my luxurious hotel suite with no visible evident of the night prior. "It was only a dream," I happily thought to myself. As I prepared to take a much needed bath, I sense something is not right again; someone is in the room with me. Alert, but wary from all the commotion of the dream, I searched high and low, inside and out of my room and the hotel living room. I laugh to myself, "I'm slowly going insane", and with that thought and a chuckle, I hopped out of my clothes and into my bathrobe and proceeded into the bathroom to take that bath. As I drew back the curtain, instantly I knew that last night was real and it is as real as the lifeless body submerged in a pool of his blood sitting in my bath tub. The tub was half way filled and Mikey's head was half detached from his body......

A Typical Day for Me....

How can I ever compete with Ms. Hwang's stories? I will never be able to obtain Gold Status on Northwest Airline, therefore, will never know the joy of sitting next to a pervert. But I suppose my life is not that shabby.....


Today was like any other day in the life of Howard Lee. I woke up in my spacious 4 bedroom, bi-level penthouse located in the newly renovated Plaze Hotel overlooking Central Park. The smell of sweet French Vanilla coffee and fried eggs and ham omellette gently woke me from my deep slumber. I slept so well that my 1200 count Egyptian cotton sheet around my body barely had a crease from when the maids made the bed the morning prior.

"It doesn't get better than breakfast in bed," I tell myself, as my butler, Fernando, carefully set the well prepared breakfast in my lap. I turn on CNN to see what's going on in the world not because I care about the world, but to see if current affairs will interfere with my daily routines, such as terrorist attacks that may disrupt the usage of my personal helicopter, for example.

I finish my breakfast just as my personal trainer, Thor, arrives at my doorway for my daily workout regiment. The clock shows 8:30am. "Right on time," I said to the muscle bound 25 year-old Columbia Law Student. He takes me to the rooftop where we start our workout with a much needed meditation then Yoga. He has Yani playing in the background fading in and out to Enya. After half an hour or so, he gently rocks me out of my deep state of nirvana and we head into the rooftop gym that I had designed tailoring to my needs. We run on the treadmill for 15 mins then onward to lifting. After an hour or so, we're done; Thor goes home, and I head into the shower.

At 10:00 my mom meets me (wow, alliteration, exciting) downstairs at the Palm Court for morning tea prior to our fitting at Dolce & Gabbana and Dior by John Galliano for some fashion show tonight. We attend so many of these a week it all starts to blend in together. We don't complain much as it is the duties of Manhattan socialites to attend any and all invited events for media spotlights; I, however, attend for entirely different reasons; I go for the free watches, free cellphones, free wardrobe upgrade, and the occassional free spa visits, oh, and of course, watch Paris Hilton make an ass of herself along side of Tara Reid. Life is good.

After our fittings (it went amazingly) we head down to Frederick Fekkai for our weekly spa manicures and pedicures. It's pure heaven just to be able to sit back, close your eyes and enjoy the fruit of of American foreign policy - the immigrants. They sure know how to work those hands. Just as I'm about to climb into the heated chair for my pedicure, I run into Lindsay Lohan & Co. whom I fake air-kiss and swap a few superficial exchanges. "Oh, I just love your outfit! What do they call it? Sweatpants....ohhh, and they're valour, what? they didn't have it in felt?! haha, oh I'm such a kidder. You look fabulous darling, can't wait to see what you'll be wearing tonight! ciao ciao Lindsay!" I air kiss one last time and turn to find my mother absolutely abhorred by my interaction with Ms. Lohan. Not because she disapproves my fakeness, but rather of a human being best described as a rat and the fact that I actually took the time and energy out being fake to a human corpse. I assure my mother that such atrocity would never happen again. Finally appeasing her, I sat down for my pedicure, which was heaven, to say the least.

Walking out of the salon made me feel like a whole new person and I can finally understand (I have the realization on a weekly basis walking out of the salon) why my dear mother insist on going once, sometimes twice, a week. So, with ourselves all refreshed and ready to take on the day, the driver comes at exactly 3:45 and takes us to the Rotunda so we can make the 4:00pm High Tea located at the Pierre Hotel. It has always been our daily ritual to meet here so we can catch up on gossips, such as who did who, who has the latest fashion and who's snorting the most coke. We live for moments like this. Had I been born a girl, we would have been the ultimate mother/daughter team toppling even the mightiest of giants, Joan & Melissa Rivers. (The Gastineaus don't count, those bitches can't even count correctly...fuck them). As we sip our tea and munch on our cucumber and tomato sandwiches stuffed with procuitto, we realize that we had dinner reservation at Cipriani's so we call the driver and race towards the restaurant. It's never polite to be late to dinner when the owner of the restaurant invites you.

Around 9:00pm we finish dinner. My mother and I go our separate ways, I take my Dolce and she takes her Dior, to get ready for the fashion show. Of course my sister is late coming to my place; she claims that her pilot didn't know the way. How hard is it to set a 4 seater plane on auto-pilot? Flying from France is not exactly far. I don't know what she's thinking sometimes. And of course being as absent-minded as she is, she had forgotten to go for her fitting at Jean Paul Gaultier so I had to beg Andrew Goodman to open up his store just so my sister can find herself a dress, a request he happily obliged. My sister picks out a vintage Chanel Couture and it is just heaven on her. Bergdorf is so pretty at night.

Finally, an hour late for the fashion show, we arrive just in time for drinks before everyone heads down to Bungalow 8 for the after party where the real fun, for me, begins. Brushing elbows with the stars has always been a favorite of my pasttimes. I love it not because I'm star struck, but I do it so that my mother and I, along with a few thousand of our friends, will have the opporunity to hear stories like "Paris fucked some ugly ass guy," or "Nicole Richie and I totally purposely tripped Lindsay Lohan and Heidi Klum walking out of the Marquees". I live for those moments and tonight was not to be an exception. Almost immediately upon my grand entrance, my eyes dart for the nearest drunk ccelebrity. And of course, who do I see? Kimberly Stewart. I see her dancing on top of a table in her cheap ass Juicy Couture outfit and what looks like Payless stiletto heels. For 5 minutes straight, she keeps gyrating with a force so strong, her body could have been mistaken for going into Epileptic seizuer. Just I was getting bored, I hear Ms. Janice Dickinson (a bitch I worship) telling Kimberly to "Get your slutty cunt off the bar before I bust a bottle over your head!" My attention is instantaneously crabbed and my eyes fix on Ms. Janice to see what that crazy bitch had in store for Ms. Thang. Sure enough, like her verbal promise, she grabs a bottle of Cristal, chugs half of it and then proceeds on sending the half drank bottle sailing towards Kimberly's head.....

Just as the bottle is about make contact, I feel a certain pain in my right eye and in an instant, all the glittering lights, all the expensive dresses and the bottle flying towards Ms. Stewart's head was gone and I woke up with Jonathan's elbow in my eye. Laying in my 2 bedroom apt in Rockville, MD, with my dog licking my feet, I contemplated calling out sick from work; I hate taking the metro.......

Fuck-Sanghee Road Trip

So Sanghee finally got married....

So why "Fuck-Sanghee" you say? Well, let me begin by telling you the events leading up to her wedding.

Sanghee's wedding was on Sunday (who has ever heard of a wedding on a Sunday?) at 6:30pm (yes, 6:30 PM, the day before a work day), so Soko and I decided to leave DC around 1:00pm and with a "normal" trip being 4 1/2 hours, give or take, we figured we had plenty of time, so we embarked on our journey.

Half way through the trip, we find ourselves stuck in a Tsumani comparable to the one that struck the Indonesian area not too long ago (Please see attached photo). Fuck Sanghee. I could not see a damn thing. Not willing to get into an accident and not wanting to get thrown into the river by being tossed by the howling wind, we admitted defeat and pulled over. It was definitely an experience. I have never been in a situation where I couldn't see two inches in front of me. It was the most terrifying moment of my life, one I wouldn't care to repeat ever again. Fuck Sanghee.

Once in NY, we were immediately lost. Fuck Sanghee. We couldn't find a bridge. Yes, a bridge. I can understand not being able to find a road because many roads look alike, but a bridge? How many bridges can there be in one state? Large bridges? No, thanks to the wonders and the impeccable accuracy of MapQuest, we were unable to find the Throgs Neck Bridge connecting dirty Jersey, aka arm pit of America, to NY. By the way, now would be a good time to tell those readers who have never been in or near Jersey what we had to endure. The state smells of....well, crap and we were on the damn NJ Turnpike for 121, yes, 121 miles breathing in toxic fumes and smoke. Fuck Sanghee. Not to mention we were unable to find a decent station for the entirity of Delaware (by the way, Soko thought Delaware was a city in Pennsylvania) to New Jersey, if it's not static, then it's crappy 70s or listening to an old black man chanting excitedly about Jesus and the power of prayers. As much as I am for praying, driving and listening to the Christian Broadcast Network, radio version of the 700 Club, equals Road Rage. So needless to say, we had nothing to take our minds off the toxic, fart-esque smell emtombing the both of us. Fuck Sanghee.

So anyhoo....onward with the trip..... where was I, oh yes, the Throgs Neck Bridge; couldn't find it. At this point, we are tired, sleepy, grumpy and a bit high, yes, not going to lie, we were a bit high from huffing the toxic fumes of NJ, and all we want to do is get off this stupid, long ass Turnpike. FUck Sanghee. Besides, at this point, we only had 45 minutes to get to the wedding AND change into our outfits. With some help of calling people, and piecing together of our knowledge of NY, we were able to take the Triboro Bridge and leave NJ, Hoorray! Still, Fuck Sanghee. I figured, once we get onto the Triboro Bridge, we're home safe because then we can take Cross Island Parkway to 495 E, Long Island Expressway and get off in Great Neck, where the wedding was. Boy, was I wrong!

The Lond Island Expressway is not that easy to find and NY signs are HORRIBLE, especially in the rain. I was overconfident because I thought, hey, I'm from Long Island so I know my way around. Haha, no. I realize that there are ghettos and slums and projects and poor people on Long Island that I have never seen in all of the 18 years of living there. I was confused and, not gonna lie, I peed myself a little bit.

Finally, with some luck and ingenuity, we were able to find our way into Great Neck once there, I was home. We finally found the place, parked, and were on our way to the wedding. Two packs of cigarettes and 9 hours later, we arrived; the wedding started 3 hours ago. Fuck Sanghee? Yes, Fuck Sanghee, hard.

The wedding was held at Leonard's in Great Neck. Those who did not grow up in the neighborhood should know that Leonard's is one of those places that can only host Senior Proms, Weddings and, perhaps, a fancy funeral. Everything about the place is quite cheesy, but it was nice, and I could definitely see why foreigners would be attracted to such a place. I, personally, would not have chosen to have my wedding there, but then again, I can't get married, legally. Fuck Sanghee.

I don't know why I look retarded....

Now, let's talk about Sanghee's wedding dress. Oh, my goodness!!!! It was one of the most beautiful dresses I have ever seen in all of the weddings I have been to. It was just simple and elegant and with no words to properly describe the beauty that is her dress. I will get a picture from Soko's camera and post is on here when I get a chance. It's just so beautiful.

Soko asked me at the start of dinner if it was worth driving 9 hours for and I said, "Fuck Sanghee, hell no it wasn't. Nothing's worth driving 9 hours for, nothing", but I was wrong. As I'm writing this blog and recounting the experience that I had in the car, at the wedding and seeing my friends afterwards, I realize that this is one of the most memorable weddings and experiences ever. Soko and I bonded, we were able to give Sanghee such joy, and we had so much fun at the wedding dancing and eating and stuff. Through all the Fuck Sanghee's, we came out loving and enjoying every moment of it. This experience brought Soko and I up onto another level of friendship and gave us a much needed bonding moment!

New York is where friends are made, prejudices are lost and a place where everyone has a grand old time! Fuck Sanghee! n_n"

中文

只識一識看看可不可以寫中文而以.....

是為了某某人而識的..........猜的到是誰嗎?

A Whole New Me

I woke up at 5:30 this morning and cooked Jonathan one hell of a breakfast. It was awesome. Normally I despise having pancakes for breakfast, actually, I despise pancakes in general, but I was even impressed by my own pancake making skills and ate it with glee. I know the question on top of everyone's mind is "What in God's name are you doing up at 5:30 in the morning?!" I agree, normally I would ponder the same thing since I have never, in my entire 23 years of existence, woken up remotely close to 5:30 in the morning, but I guess with age, you start to want to do something nice for somebody other than yourself. Haha....sike, I am not that philanthropic, I do not do things for the good of society or humanity. I toss paper cups and used paper napkins (sometimes, unused....) out the car window, I spit my phlegm, cigarette butts and chewed up gum on the side of the streets and I don't recycle; I leave the water running when I brush my teeth and I toss out paper that may have just one word written on it....the point is, I couldn't care less about the environment; Let me put it this way if BMW never comes out with a Hybrid-esque, environmentally safe/sound car and the good of the world depended on it, it would not deter my decision to buy one one bit.

I'm doing this because I made a promise to myself, actually, several promises.

Jonathan has been working extremely hard working both as a graphic designer for AU and as a Library Monitor. On top of all that, he is also investing much of his time and energy into jump starting his own marketing consulting business. He puts in about an average 50-55 hour weeks just for AU and another maybe 10-15 hours for his own company. Needless to say, the boy's tired so I figure I do something nice for him. He puts up with a lot of my crap. Those of you who grew up with me, or have lived with me, know how particular I am about certain things and being even my friend is no walk in the park. I am not evil, I just have a lot of petpeeves and judgments about a lot of things.

So the first promise I made to myself is to do everything in my power to alleviate some of Jonathan's stress whether it's doing extra house work or cooking him a healthy breakfast (okay, so maybe pancakes are not the healthiest of all breakfasts, but he likes it). "But this is doing something for someone else", you say? Well, actually, not really. See, if Jonathan's happy, then he makes everything easy and smooth; therefore, I'm happy. If Jonathan's not stressed and doesn't have to worry about house chores and the such, then he'll have time and energy to spare, and we all know what time and energy can spell out...yes, you've guessed it S-E-X, I get sex, so if A equals B and B equals C then A equals C equals SEX.....yes, sex, 'nough said.

Also, this past birthday I was feeling like I haven't accomplished anything physically. I have everything going for me at this point. I am where I want to be at financially, relationship-wise and career-wise; however, the one thing I've been neglecting is my body. Though I was athletic in college, that sort of died down as college years progressed. With each passing year, I became more sluggish and more lazy (is it more lazy or lazier? Apparently my grammar has been going as well....). I stopped playing tennis, I stopped juggling a soccer ball around, stopped swimming and I also stopped going to the gym. All those things, believe it or not, I onced loved to do. Yes, I am more than a Gucci-clad, Prada-wearing shopaholic sipping martinis at Barney's 10 in the morning. I, once, was a jock (haha, definitely would not go that far).
In any event, I started to feel like I had to do something with my body and it started with the day I saw my stomach hanging over my jeans (yes, as skinny as I may look, don't let yourself be disillusioned into thinking that I don't have a gut..oh because, Lord knows, I do....) I signed up for a gym about 3 months ago and I go usually every day during lunch. I started running too, something I enjoy immensely. So I thought to myself, what better way to prove to yourself that you're still young and healthy (and hot) then to run a marathon?? Not only will have you have "marathon" to breg about, but a stellar body to boot! So I promised myself that for my birthday next year (2006 - age 24) I am going to run the San Francisco Marathon and I'm training for it now. And by waking up early everyday, I can run for 30 mins to an hour and still go to the gym at lunch, so this week is like a "getting-use to" period of waking up early.

This is definitely a whole new me. I am now caring, athletic, and able to make my boobies dance once again. I'm still trying to kick the cigarette habit, but that will come with time as I run more and more; it's a hard habit to kick!! But, nonetheless, I am trying to make a change.

I'm Hot

Scary.....

You have no idea how many times I have erased this entry and restarted it. It's intimidating and I have no idea why I'm so afraid of the big bad blog!!! Words flew threw me when I was writing on my EasyJournal site, however, with this site, I feel a severe sense of writer's block.....odd. I dont' know what it is. Is it because I feel the need to say something insightful and witty? But then I thought to myself, no, I'm always insightful and extremely witty (and hot), so that can't be it. Then what is it?

Then I started to think, aahhhh....maybe it's the psychological impact of an article I read not too long ago regarding blogging. The article, I think it was in the New York Times, featured a story of five people getting fired from their respectful jobs due to blogging all because they had mentioned their jobs or spilled dirt on their companies. Well, knowing me, I have a huge mouth and I tend to say (or write, in this case) without processing the information thoroughly through my cranium prior to blurting something like "that shirt not only makes you look fat, but makes you look like you have severe down syndrome and a homo"...something to that affect. As you can see why I would be hesitant to start writing. But after some thought processing (yes, something I do not do too often), I realize that if I shy away from company secrets and talking trash about the government, maybe, just maybe, I will be able to keep my job and not have the Secret Service knock on my door at 3 in the morning pointing guns and waving handcuffs in front of my face (though I must admit, it's a bit of a turnon...tingling sensation in my naughty bits right now...).

You know what? My therapist was right, talking about it (or announcing it to the world) does make things easier and I think I've just overcame my fear of blogging.

So my name is Howard and you have just read my first formal blog piece. Stayed tuned, more random thoughts are sure to follow.

Blogging

ALRIGHTTT!!!!! I am no longer a diary writter, but an official cyberspace blogger! Now I am patiently awaiting my official blogger decoder ring.....

So the first time is always the hardest and I guess it gets easier with time. My, my the pressure, or as Jeanne calls it "blessure", of writing in this thing (how incredibly clever my dear...almost as witty as.....oh shit, hate putting myself on the spot like that). Well, anyway, I guess this posting is just an introduction to my OFFICIAL BLOG!!!!

Hi, my name is Howard and I am a blogger.

Now... if I can just sleep with someone important to write about it............