A Bad Sign

I really can't maintain a blog to save my life. My last one, the original one, here (screw that) would be vibrant and bubbly for about three days straight, as I have a habit of just making one post after the other to fill up space and don't really blog everyday, and then be forgotten for about five or six month gaps.

This blog will likely be another example of that.

I'm really just using this to kill time while in Vietnam. Instead of listening to hit Soviet favorites Bollywood soundtracks and eating endless chocolate romance ice cream, I feel a better use of my time is documenting the moments when I am listening to Bollywood soundtracks and eating endless chocolate romance ice cream.

All this just shows why I am in desperate need of a job and steady income, instead of relying on the thousands of dollars that old rich white dudes left behind to help a poor Latina like myself (cause really, if I hadn't stayed in high school and gone to college I would have gotten pregnant at 16 or whatever case scenario young women of color are assumed to go through by old rich white dudes). But I've got the multi-racial thing going on--afterall, I am half Filipino, so I am an academic star (this is in fact true) as well as great at doing nails. But you can't get too close because I'm still considered yellow peril, for some reason.

Anyway,

I realize the above paragraph made me sound more like a call girl or high class prostitute in academia. And when you think about it, it's kinda true.

Shiiet, I don't care-- bitch is gettin' PAID.