Posted from: Beijing, China
Just because I, in pasta-sauce-stained sweatpants, blew all the fuses in a three-block radius with a pair of scissors and an air con cable does not goddamn mean that the incident deserves a mention in Russel’s blog. I was entirely unable to resist the urge to write a Reply All email to his entire list of friends and family, an excerpt from which goes:
“With a wounded bellow of rage, Kendra sprung sideways with catlike grace. Fingers calloused from years of expert steak cutting, rubbed the huge, huge lump on her head and she was like, ‘ow. god.’ Vengance would be hers.”
And not to sound awesome or anything, but there’s no other word for what I did to that thing but “vanquish”. And it’s important that you know that.
Someday I will learn to leave well enough alone.
Just when you thought your sordid past was dead and buried, you get an email back. “So. You’re that girl from the Secret Brotherhood of the ****** [name redacted to protect my dignity].”
*cough*
Let’s get something entirely straight. At no point did I participate in a live-action comic strip under the pseudonym Sun Yat Sen. No one ever took pictures of me wearing a Chinese tablecloth and pretending to have a clandestine meeting with pillows that had happy faces safety pinned on. Never did it take Russel and I like, 50 shots of me jumping off a chair to get that Shao-lin hammer fight scene right.
Mmm-kay?
Also, went out again this week. Twice. Out. Of the house. Into the expansive and daunting reaches of Public. I swear.
Thursday night I dragged basically everyone whose name I know in Beijing to Kai Club’s indie night, a multi-person cloak of social protection to cover up the fact that I was totally going there to grope Kyle behind the sound booth.
Captain Kendrastic to ground, mission accomplished, over.
I was going to leave at midnight. I was going to go to school on Friday.
…I was going to end up on a barstool eating Matt’s “Happy Birthday, Douchbag” cake at 4:30 in the morning.
Yum.
