I’m Everything I Never Though I Wanted To Be

It’s been nearly a year since I’ve written anything new.  I’ve had the most eventful year and nothing to say.

I turned 31 this year and I sat down and realized that I’ve become everything that I never thought I wanted to be.

When I first quit my job and said ‘fuck it’ to everything, I was 24.  All I wanted was strange adventures, beautiful men and a permanent tan.  This went on for a couple of years.  I bought  one way ticket, and I didn’t look back.  I had no money, no clue, and no fear.  Generally a recipe for disaster.  I traveled for a few years; always broke, no fixed address, new cities, new faces, foreign sounds and a semi permanent tan.

Certain circumstances brought me back home, and when I got home, I was depressed.  I said I’d stick around for a few months, save up a few pennies and buy a one way ticket to Mexico where I would spend a few years making my way through Mexico, Central and South America.  That was 5 years ago, almost to the date.  When I got home, I said I would never give a shit about having a nice car, a nice house and all that shit that adults are supposed to want.  I would always do what I loved and never be tied down to material things.

I used to think people that drove BMWs were fucking pricks.  I now drive an Audi… close enough.  I’m a fucking prick. I recently bought my first house… it has a yard and I love to spend my weekends at Home Depot.  My seedlings have started to sprout and I am legitimately excited to plant my very own little garden this weekend.  I adopted a dog earlier this year and I got my first foster dog 3 days ago.

The girl that refused to ever have any real responsibility has nothing but responsibility now.  I actually have not one, but TWO living beings in my house and depend on me to live.  Although, to be fair, my dog lived on the reserve for a few years before he came to live with me. I softened him up, he sleeps on a memory foam bed and rolls in an Audi, he’s not equipped to deal with real life anymore.  I have turned my dog into a little bitch.

Anyways, the point I am trying to get at is not that my dog is a little bitch, but that I’m the little bitch.  When I came home from my time wandering aimlessly around the world, I said I would never become any of those things.  I would devote my life to travel, adventure, and philanthropist endeavours.  I promised to save all the puppies and orphans.

I am digressing here.

I enjoy my job most days, I find it challenging and I’m mentally stimulated even though I sit in a cubicle.

I love my car.  I used to drive around this shitbox Mazda and every time I got into it, I wondered if I was going to die in it.  I shouldn’t feel bad about owning a nice car that gets me safetly to and from my destination, one that I can take out on road trips and not worry about breaking down and having to offer blow jobs to truckers to get me to the next destination (if TV has taught me anything, it’s that hitchhikers must give blow jobs).

I don’t live out of a back pack anymore.  I have more than 6 shirts, most of them are clean. I get to put things away nicely in their places.  It’s actually quite incredible how settling this can be.

I recently moved into my new home and renovated the kitchen.  I honestly felt proud when I put up the new tiles on my kitchen backsplash and when I made that first mortgage payment.  Hey everyone!  Look at me!  I’m in debt FOREVER.  You know what is fucked up?  The reason why I ever started looking for a house is so my dog could have a yard.  Even just a year ago, I vowed I would never give up the single girl downtown lifestyle; and now here I am, in the burbs, with my dog and my yard.  I basically bought my dog a house.

The point of this post was, I’ve become everything that I said I never wanted to be and I don’t feel guilty or shameful about it either.  I don’t feel embarrassed that I drive a nice car and have a home to call my very own.  It doesn’t upset me that I now have a job that pays my bills and I’m not scrounging up my change to buy my next meal.

As exciting as my once adventurous life was, I don’t know that I would want to do it again.  Sure, I miss it the excitement of living life on the road continuously, but I don’t miss the days when I had no money, lived in an apartment with 6 other people, and ate Nutella out of the jar and nothing else because I couldn’t afford anything else.

I used to look down on people like me.  I always felt that people like me were missing the point of life.  Some days I do hate the monotony of it all, but most days I’m pretty happy; but regardless of what life is lived, not every day is perfect.  Nothing makes me happier than coming home and seeing my dog pressing his little nose up against the window waiting for me to come home from work.  It is actually the best thing, when I open the door and his tail is wagging so hard his entire body is swaying side to side.  I don’t need to jump out of airplanes for the excitement anymore.  The biggest smile of my day is when my dog licks my face even though I know he’s probably spent a period of the day licking his own asshole.

I never expected to live this long, I always imagined I would die stupidly because I never understood consequences.  I always had this vision of who I would become, and life doesn’t always work out the way you plan.  In fact, life NEVER works out the way you plan.  People change, feelings change, circumstances change and I had to learn to roll with it or live a life of disappointment and missed opportunity.  I suppose I could die tomorrow, but what happens if I don’t?  Would I continue to try to force an envisioned life that makes no sense to who I am as a person today?

I never thought I wanted to be an adult, but it turns out I am a fucking adult, and you know what?  I’m ok with that.



I apologize that this post is late…. I started it on my birthday and just couldn’t get it out right….

Well friends, I made it.  I’m 30 fucking years old.  I always wondered if I would make it this far due to my complete lack of understanding of what consequences are.

As I do every year on my birthday, I reflect on the year that has just passed.

Simply put, this year fucking sucked.  I started off the year with a bang, feelin good about everything.  I had an awesome job, I was fit and I thought I had met the man of my dreams.  Well, my boyfriend cheated on me and then I got laid off.  At the time, I thought I was fine.  First off, fuck that guy.  And it’s cool, I’ll find another job.

I never realized how badly damaged I was from being cheated on until I tried to date again.  Unfortunately, I chose the worst person to date when I decided to start dating again.  I loved what Jesse was, I didn’t love who Jesse was.  He was the exciting badass.  The long hair, the beard, the Harley.  I was his ride or die bitch.  It was fun when HE wanted it to be fun.  I was constantly on eggshells, wondering if something I was going to say would start a fight.  He would be overly sensitive to my comments but I wasn’t allowed to be upset when he was jerk.  This lasted for nearly 5 months. Why I let it continue for 5 months is a mystery to me.  I guess I was in a vulnerable spot.

On top of everything that had happened last year, dating Jesse just made me fall apart like I’ve never fallen apart before.  I already felt defeated, and he was my breaking point.  I quit life.  I shut down.

I stopped going to the gym, I started eating badly, I became withdrawn, I didn’t see my friends, I didn’t want to be out in public.  I actually almost feared human contact.  There were a handful of people I allowed myself to be around, and only in small gatherings.  I cried.  All I fucking did was cry.  I tried to go to the gym. I’d cry.  I’d get in my car to drive somewhere.  I’d cry some more.  I’d be sitting at my desk at work, trying to compose an email and I could feel the tears.  I couldn’t understand why I was so sad.  I didn’t know how to not be sad either.

I started going to counselling.  I also quickly stopped going to counselling when my counsellor questioned if I should be there or not.  Perhaps I’m not as sad as the “normal” person who seeks counselling is; she showed me a chart with an average “sadness” level and I was below that level.  She turned out to not be helpful.  This is not to dissuade anyone who feels the need to seek counselling to not seek counselling, just find the right counsellor.

I’ve been a mess of a person.  I’ve taken yet another step back.  Letting myself further downward spiral is not going to make me feel any better any sooner.  I spend most of my time alone these days, which is weird for me, and probably most of my friends who are used to seeing me out all the time with everyone.  I am always everybody’s best pal.  I want to know how everyone is all the time.  I apologize to everyone for being distant and unreachable as of late.

I’ve taken some time out to re-evaluate what I hope to gain from my time on this crazy rotating mass and the kind of person I want to be and the kind of people I want in my life.  For the first time in my life, I’ve been very guarded.  I’m very careful with who I have been spending my time with, and it’s the only thing that has started to heal me.

Right before Christmas, my friend Tyler, who lives in Africa, came home, and he, my best pal Chocolate and I decided that we should head out to Revelstoke and spend some time together in the mountains.  I don’t always keep in regular contact so he wasn’t fully aware of everything that had been going on in my life.  Tyler just held my hand as I cried my little face off.  Tyler has held my hand many times as I cried my little face off.  Chocolate has held me up even more times than that.  I knew I was in good hands, and I trusted that they would take care of me, and without fail, they did.  I just needed them to be with me.  We spent 3 days out in Revy and we met up with a couple of other pals I have out there.  While the 5 of us were at dinner one night, my heart was filled with joy again.  I was surrounded by some of the best men I know in one of the most beautiful places I know.  It was just one of those moments when I knew I was going to be ok because I had my little darlings taking care of me.

I know I’m going to be ok, but I’m not there right now but I know I’ll get there.  I’m an insecure shell of a human being right now;  wishing I was prettier, skinnier, stronger, smarter, more successful.  I don’t feel like I’m enough.  There’s this part of my brain, the logical side that is telling me, ‘Jen, you’re a fucking dumbass because you know deep down that you’re enough.’  But the problem is I don’t FEEL it.  It just feels like I tell myself over and over again that I’m enough because it’s the logical and rational thing to do, but I can’t seem to convince myself.

Then I wonder to myself, if I had fake boobs, fake hair, fake nails, straighter teeth, better eyebrows, longer eyelashes, poutier lips and the Kardashian contoured skinny face, would I feel better about myself?  Maybe temporarily, but that’s not me.  I’d probably look at myself in the mirror and realize what a complete asshole I’ve become.  I’d take 500 selfies and pretend like I took one and it just came out flawless, I’d apply the X-Pro filter because it’s the one that makes me look the most tanned, then I’d sit there and stare at my phone and wait for the likes to roll in to validate that I’m good enough, that I’m pretty enough and that I’m desired.  Then I’d post a new selfie EVERY SINGLE DAY to constantly validate that I’m good enough.  I hope I never get to that point.  I hope that I do enough cool shit to share photos of experiences rather than of my stupid ass face every day.  I also hope that I never hit that point that the only satisfaction I get is from people liking pictures of said stupid ass face.

I am not that woman that punched her cheating ex boyfriend in the face, or the woman that quit her job and left her life on a whim to seek out new experiences in foreign lands.   I am not the brave soul I once was and I am not strong right now (mentally, physically or emotionally).  If you chip at the stone long enough, it’s bound to crack.

I can’t wait for the day when I don’t feel like this anymore, because I know it’s not far off.  I’m working on picking my sorry ass up off the ground because I know nothing will get better until I’m willing to let it be better.  The only thing I can control in this world is how I choose to deal with it.  I can’t wait for the day when I’m in a relationship with a wonderful man who wants to live in the woods with me and all my mangled rescue dogs, who looks at me and tells me I’m everything he could ever want, even though my boobs aren’t a C and I don’t have abs because I rather eat a pizza, and he still loves me even though I love the new Carly Rae Jepsen song.

Someone who appreciates my inappropriate humour because I think talking about buttholes (or as I like to refer to them, ‘balloon knots’), is hilarious.

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Someone who isn’t freaked out by the fact that 98% of my body weight resides in my butt and my thighs.

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It’s taken me nearly 6 weeks to write this because I wasn’t sure I was ready to share this.  It’s also an apology for being a terrible friend to a lot of you these last few months.  I haven’t been around although I know I’ve always promised I would be.  Let’s be real though, nobody wants to be around a sad sack of shit with flat hair, over 22% body fat and unwaxed eyebrows, right? 😀

I love you all and I’ll be back soon.

The Haters Gonna Hate

First off, please enjoy this picture of this pug sitting on a couch because it’s hilarious.

I’m a ball buster, the shatterer of egos. I can be a jerk. I know it.

I don’t rip on people with malicious intent. I don’t wake up each and every morning and go through my contacts list and pick a name out of the hat and proceed to make that person feel like shit.

My mission is to challenge people, to bring about a new perspective and I ask that others do the same with me. If I say something dumb as fuck, call me out, but be prepared to back yourself on why my opinion is dumb as fuck. Challenge me to think in new ways. It’s the only way I’ll ever grow, and it’s the only way that those I challenge will ever grow.

I’ve received a lot of feedback since I’ve started writing this blog and sharing it openly. A lot of it is positive, and of course, there is the negativity. However, the negativity has not been shared with ME. I’ve heard lots of things through the grapevine; such as I’m crazy and unstable, I’m angry and that I refuse to take any responsibility for my actions. Because I’ve heard these things through the grapevine, I cannot confirm it’s validity, so if you’re the ones saying these things, feel free to call me out openly, or not openly, but to my face at least. I want to know what I have written to make you think this way. Maybe I am all these things, and I don’t realize it. Make me see a new perspective about myself. Challenge ME to reevaluate the choices that I make and the way I treat people. The thing I know about shitty people, is that they don’t realize they’re shitty. Maybe I’m one of those shitty people. If I’m shitty, please help me to be less shitty because I’m probably completely unaware of my shittiness. I’ve been called a ‘cunt’ more times in the past year than most people have been called in a their lives (that includes those living in Australia who spout off the word in every sentence). Maybe I’m missing something here? Or maybe I’m doing something right if I’m pissing off that many people?  I know if I ask these people why I’m a cunt, they won’t have an answer, it’ll be something along the lines of, “you just are,” which then leads me to believe that I’ve just hurt your ego in some way and that is your best response.

I, obviously, do not think of myself as any of these things. I just think that some of these opinions are coming from super butt hurt dudes that I a) want nothing to do with anymore, b) have made feel shitty because they’re assholes or c) may have spoke generally about humanity and you seem to fit the description of the shitty ones I have mentioned at some point.

There are also a few select people out there that are trying so desperately to dissect me, to understand what makes me tick, trying so hard to understand me on some sort of deep level. I hide nothing, my friends. I think I have exposed a lot of who I am through this blog and to anyone that has a conversation with me. I am not scared to share with you my inner workings, my fears, hopes, dreams, likes, dislikes, heartbreaks and happiness because I know everyone has gone through the exact same things that I have. I have shown my vulnerable side, I’ve been hurt and I’ve done the hurting. I’m human.

Friends, I am smart, but I am not deep. Seriously.

There are very few thoughts that keep me awake at night. Sometimes I wonder about what makes the world go round, and what our purpose is on this rotating mass, but those thoughts fade just as quickly as they came. There is no point in losing sleep over things that I will never actually have the answers to. There are some of you out there that I haven’t seen in YEARS, but seem to think they know me better than I know myself? There are also some out there that I have only hung out with a handful of times, but also know me better than I know myself. And then there are the even smaller handful that I haven’t seen in years that I only hung out with a handful of times and you seem to know me best of all. I don’t understand these people. Why are you trying so desperately to paint me as something I’m not? Why can’t you accept the things I say at face value? Yo, this isn’t English class, if I told you I ate an apple, it means I ate an apple, it’s not symbolism in any way. The apple doesn’t symbolize my deepest fear for the sweet delights in life because a family member was killed by diabetes 100 years ago.

Anyways, if you have something to say, please share, feel free to call me out publicly. Comment on this blog, write on my Facebook wall, send me a text, an email, a Facebook message, throw a brick through my window with a note wrapped around it, or if you want to make amends, send me a pizza and write a message on the pizza box.  COME AT ME BRO.

If you have a question who I am as a person, ask me and I will answer truthfully If you continue to talk shit about me, that’s ok too, just know that I have very little respect for you, this isn’t fucking high school.

For the first time in my life, I can relate to a Taylor Swift song, because the ‘Haters gonna hate, and I’m just gonna shake it off.’  If you don’t find this song catchy, you’re a liar.

Jen Cheng’s Guide to Picking Up Asian Women

So it seems as though some men have been infected by what is known as “yellow fever.”

Urban Dictionary defines “yellow fever” as the following:

1. A term usually applied to white males who have a clear sexual preference for women of asian descent.
2. An infectuous tropical disease carried by mosquitoes.
I am referring to the former in this situation.  Why are so many infected by yellow fever though?  If porn has taught me anything, it’s that Asian women are submissive, dick sucking machines that will make you blow multiple loads and make you sandwiches immediately after.  Well gents, thank god I am here.  Let me guide you into landing your very own exotic Princess of the Orient.

The other day, while I waited in line at Subway, thinking about that meaty footlong that was going to enter my mouth, a man in line in front of me turned around and gave me the up and down.

Step 1 in picking up Asian women, DON’T EVER do this.  Actually… I guess this applies when attempting to pick up any woman.

He then took a step closer to me, invading my personal space in an overly packed Subway.  I took a step back, and he took yet another step closer to me, clearly not picking up on the fact that his hot breath on my face wasn’t giving me a lady boner, “Hi, are you from Taiwan?”

“Um, no dude, I was born in Calgary.”

“Oh, I was just in Taiwan you know, and you look like you’re from Taiwan.”

“Um, cool.  I’ve seen the inside of the Taipei airport.”

“But you’re not from Taiwan?”

“Um… no.”

“Well you really look like you are, I’m going back there soon.”

He then proceeded to talk about Taiwan for 6 minutes.  I should’ve just left, but the smell of freshly baked Subway bread had me by my balls.

“So where are you from if you’re not from Taiwan?”

“I was born here, in Calgary.”

“But what are you?”

“Excuse me?”  I wasn’t sure how to answer this.  Ewok?  I’ve always wanted to be an Ewok, they’re fucking adorable.  What else was I?  Female, offended, fantasy football super star, snowboarder, weight lifter, dirtbag …. I’m a lot of things.

So this isn’t the first time this has happened to me.  In fact, it’s probably the 500th time this has happened to me.  A random non Asian dude will come up to me, ask me if I’m from some Asian country, then proceed to tell me that they’ve been there and tell me all about it, ignoring the fact that I am clearly uninterested.

Step 2: Do not assume automatically assume that just because I’m Asian, that I’m from an Asian country and not born and raised in Canada, even though I have the stereotypical Asian girl bangs.

Step 3:  I probably don’t care that you’ve been to (insert Asian country here).  You’re trying to pick ME up.  Make this about me and my sweet ass.  Ask me how much I can squat.  I’ll be more inclined to talk to you.  Hell, I’d even be more receptive to a cheesy pick up line.  Let me give you some examples:

“If you were a Transformer, you’d be Optimus Fine.”

“Are you a parking ticket?  Because you’ve got FINE written all over you.”

“I want our love to be like pi – irrational and never ending.”

“If you were a booger, I’d pick you first.”

YOU’RE WELCOME.  If you want to be neck deep in Asian pussy, I suggest you use one of the above, trust me, as an Asian woman, I know these things.

Other techniques involve growing out a beard, rolling up to my house on your Harley with a pizza for Sunday football.  If you’re a true romantic, that pizza will be in the shape of a heart.  You’ll come to my place, offer to crack my back and watch Raiders and Packers games with me.  Bitches love it when you offer them heart shaped pizzas.

Ok, I’m going to be honest, most of this shit won’t work unless you’re trying to pick me up.  In the instance that you do meet a proper Asian girl that has just immigrated from Asia, I promise you, NONE of this shit will work.  I have no idea how to pick up those girls.  I imagine Hello Kitty accessories are probably a good start.





If You Like It Then You Better Put A Superbowl Ring On It

The other day I had a conversation with my Grandmother, a conversation I’ve had a hundred times with her before.

She asked me, ‘Jen, do you have a boyfriend yet?’

“No Grandma, I do not…” *eye roll*

“Do boys chase you? Why don’t you have a boyfriend? You’re getting old, pretty soon, it’ll be too late and nobody will want you.”

Now, my dear old Grandmother comes from a completely different time and doesn’t understand why this is an offensive comment. How do I explain to my Grandmother that I don’t believe in marriage? How do I explain to her that being married doesn’t mean the same thing it meant 70 years ago?

Here’s the thing, I believe in love, wholeheartedly. But what is marriage? It’s a piece of paper that binds two people together in the legal system and I guess in the eyes of God? Well I’m Buddhist… so I guess I don’t give a shit what God says.

The only reason why I ever want to get married is so I can buy a beautiful dress, get my hair done and have people tell me how beautiful I look for an entire day and throw a massive party for all my pals. That is it. Cynical? Perhaps. I like to think of it as being realistic.

I’m not saying I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with someone I love, because I absolutely do. I want to find that person that I can wake up next to every morning and be thankful that he is in my life. I want to find that man that pushes me to be a better person, that challenges me, that calls me on all of my bullshit, that knows all the right things to say to me when I’ve had a shitty day; someone who knows how I like my pizza and who knows how to sexually satisfy me. I want to find that person that I can experience all the riches that life has to offer; someone to travel with, someone to go through all the good shit and the bad shit with.

Love is love. Marriage doesn’t make that love stronger. If your partner is a lying, disrespectful piece of shit, they will always being a lying, disrespectful piece of shit. Marriage won’t make a shitty person less shitty. Love, however, might make a shitty person less shitty.

If a relationship falls apart, one might say that the other didn’t respect the sanctity of marriage, but that’s not true. It means one partner didn’t respect the other as a person. I can still make vows to someone without doing it in front of a hundred witnesses. I can promise to love and cherish someone through sickness and in health, but doing so in a ceremony doesn’t make it more true.

I don’t know who I’m going to be in 10 years or even 20. I don’t know that my partner and I will grow together, although I would hope so. People change and sometimes it’s just not meant to last. Why continue trying to jam a corner piece of the puzzle into the middle of the damn puzzle?

When I’m in love, I’m head over heels in love. Like everything else in my life, it’s one extreme to the other. I’m either completely obsessed, or I just don’t give a shit. I become absolutely consumed by the other person. It’s probably unhealthy, but that’s the way I function. I’ve been broken up with in every single serious relationship I’ve ever had. With my serious boyfriends, all I could ever see was forever. I could never even fathom a time in which I didn’t love that other person anymore (this still rings true, I still love each and every one of them, although that love has transformed into a different kind).

I’m not necessarily shitting on marriage here. It works for some people, and some people want it. I guess I’m just challenging the way that we, as a society view love. Love is love and marriage is marriage and somewhere along the way, one became a necessity to facilitate the other and I just don’t dig it.

So I guess if I ever get married, you guys should all come, because the only reason I’m doing it is so I can throw a huge fucking party, complete with a waterside or something similar in nature.

I don’t need convention. I never have and I probably never will. I’m not looking for a Prince. I’m just looking for someone who will high five me when the Raiders (eventually) win the Superbowl again.

Adventures in Online Dating: You Don’t Look Right

Well friends, against my better judgement, I have signed up on POF again in search of someone who doesn’t suck. I’m clearly delusional thinking I might find such a person on the interwebs. I’ve been back on for about a week now and I have enough stories to fill a book that would make good women want to become lesbians and good men ashamed to be men.
I guess all I’ll be doing on here is putting douches in place, one at a time.