So it’s February 2011 and the last entry is dated in 2009.  Alright, so I did a massive clean-up on this blog and decided to start again.  Actually, my lovely boyfriend Evan and I spent this evening side by side, registering our domain names.  This is the life I live these days.

I just purchased a Diana Mini (w/flash) from the lomo site, and already anxiously waiting for it to arrive so I can start playing!!









I’ve decided that this is the year in which:
I will write and sing a song (with some help of course)
I will bring a camera with me wherever I go and take more photos
Update my sites on a regular basis



It’s because I am petite and Asian that this happens to me all the time.  It’s because I don’t walk “butch” enough that this happens to me all the time.

Yes, boys and girls…last night I was flashed again.  One.  Two.  Three.  Four.  It happened around 8:30pm while I was on my way home from a friend’s house.  It occurred around 19th and St. George Street, and the flasher this time was an Asian male jogger with slightly darker skin, about mid 40s.  When I saw him, my guard was up and I tried my best to remember certain things about this man.  He jogged past me when I turned up on 19th.  But then he did a turn and jogged up 19th too.  My heart started to beat faster, as I knew this would be nothing but trouble.  His fucking shorts were so short you could see his ass cheeks.   He stopped at Prince Edward Street (I was half a block away from him) with his back turned to me, jogging on the spot.  And then he started half-jogging towards me, down the block and as he was closer, I noticed flesh where it should’ve been black (as that was the colour of his shorts), and he stared right at me with these hollow eyes.
All I could think to myself was, “I WAS JUST FLASHED AGAIN???  SERIOUSLY?? SERIOUSLY??” and all the anger rose from my body and out of my mouth as I screamed at him and swung my bag, hitting his back.

I called the police this time, and two officers came to my apartment twenty minutes later to take a statement and description.  This is when the male officer tells me that because I am Asian and petite, the likelihood of me getting raped are really high; I am a perfect victim.  The female officer suggests that I walk with a more “butch” stance in some attempt to ward off future incidents.

I have no control over my height and my ethnicity.  I walk like a normal person – someone with a destination.  Was I dressed in any way that would seem enticing to a male?  I was wearing a t-shirt and shorts.  Why don’t you walk on the busy streets?  Let me remind you that I have been flashed both on Broadway and Main Street.  You shouldn’t walk alone at night.  It was fucking 8:30pm with plenty of light still.

So now what?
This morning I walked my usual route to work, and when I got to St. George Street, my feet froze.  My stomach started to churn and last night’s incident began to play in my head over and over.  I started to panic and tears began to run down my cheeks.  For whatever reason, this particular incident has really gotten to me.  He looks like a dad.  He reminds me of a regular customer at work (it’s not him).  The man never said anything to me, but the fact that he looked right at me, and the fact that he was really close to me – I can’t get his face out of my head.
I spent the majority of today on edge, stopping to pretend to use my phone, or crossing the street when a lone male would be headed my direction.

What am I supposed to do?  Sure, bear mace is fine, but would I actually use it?  Would I remember?  I’m surprised that I actually hit him this time.  I’m surprised that as each incident occurs, my anger overpowers the fear in me, and I begin to fight back.

But really, I just want it to stop.

Sidenote: I’m thinking bodyguard.  I pay in baked goods.

According to Tourism Vancouver:

Vancouver is a dynamic, multicultural city set in a spectacular natural environment.

     The very first time occurred while sitting in the back of the #3 bus headed north.  The second time it happened was early in the morning, on my way to work.  And then there was tonight.

    Today started out great, since I didn’t have to work.  Chenoa and Danita made brunch for Tim, Ehren, and myself before heading out to the market.  The weather was gorgeous, so I was happy to see the market packed with people (Little Mountain Studios will be hosting something similar to the community market in the summer months).  Chenoa and I spent the rest of our afternoon crafting and singing along to music.  All in all, it was a pretty relaxing day in the sun and with my friends.  Alas, it was time to go home!  Now, I was a little sketched out about walking along Fraser Street, so I decided to catch the bus to Main Street and just walk along the busy street to get home.  Safe, right?  I shouldn’t encounter anything out of the ordinary…

I am walking down Main Street, on the east side, just past 19th and in front of the apartment complex.  This shorter, stocky, Asian male is walking ahead of me.  He seems a little weird to me, but I can’t really pinpoint what exactly.  Nor do I really care.  Destination: home.  
I am walking along Main Street, coming up to 18th Avenue.  I can see the Vietnamese restaurant up ahead, and I keep walking, but I notice something in my peripheral view, so I turn slightly.  Lo and behold, standing in the corner of the building, is that stocky Asian man, with his pants down, jerking off and staring at me, his round glasses accentuating his rotund face.   He had been waiting for me for this moment.  I don’t remember much in terms of facial expressions; although this seems to be a regular occurrence for me (this is now the third time in the past four months that I have been flashed cock and balls), it doesn’t get easier and it doesn’t unfaze me.  

Is it because I am short and youthful looking, that men feel compelled to whip out their dicks, in an attempt to get a rise out of me?  Is there a hidden camera crew following me around, for some strange and perverted candid reality show?  I don’t recall writing “please show me your junk” on my forehead or anywhere visible.  It’s disgusting.  I don’t want to see your penis or your balls.  So please stop showing me.
The first time was strange in itself – at the very least, Kristina was with me so it didn’t seem as bad.  We were really freaked out, though.  The guy ended up following us and we had to hide out in the Waves coffee shop on Main and Pender.  The second time I was in disbelief.  What a start to my day.  It was 8:45am on a Saturday, and I was on Broadway on my way to work.  I managed to shout, “Oh, fuck off!” to the guy.  

I was ready this time around.  9:00pm on a Sunday.  God’s Day, indeed.  Oh my god.  So he was whipping it at me, his face excited.  I wanted to throw one of my grapefruits at this disguisting individual, but I couldn’t do that to a piece of fruit.  So I yelled:

“Fuck you!  FUCK YOU! FUCK OFF!”
I had my phone in my hand and I put it up to my ear.
“I know exactly what you fucking look like you piece of shit!  Yea I’m calling the police good on you! Fuck you!”
The fucker pulled his pants up and ran off into the alley.
I didn’t call the police – what would they do?  Not much.  I was afraid that he was going to wait for me again, somewhere along Main.  I was pretty paranoid at first, but decided that I had probably scared the guy off, and wouldn’t see him for a bit.

This is becoming a problem.  Friends are now telling me to carry around bear mace or pepper spray with me.  Others are telling me that there’s nothing really I can do about it.  Maybe write a letter and send it to some local paper.  Fuck.  Three times!

So Vancouver males, please keep your pants on.  I’ve seen enough dicks. 


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I really like Spirit Spine.  It’s got lo-fi tendencies with the dreamy music, but his voice keeps you afloat.  I’m excited for this guy!  Listen to Trickledown and Crashers (High and Low); actually, just listen to it all.

Too bad his album cover is a little reminiscent to that of a certain Collective…just not as mind bendingly insane.

Michael and Tamsin have their own podcast!  Barbershop Radio is a delight to listen to.

Dogtown Vancouver

Tentative schedule for Erika:
– study study study
– write write write
– don’t spend money on stupid shit
Catholic School Girls Rule!
– conduct interviews for research paper

And now I have to get to bed, as I’m working at 7am.  Maybe switching shifts was a bad idea…


           The close contact of bodies made me feel uncomfortable; I never knew what to do with my hands.  Do I go for a rub or would it be better to just give a pat; or do I do nothing, leaving my hands at my side, making the hugger handle most of the work?  My mother hugged me once and it was most awkward thirty seconds ever.  Both of us didn’t know what to do.  She inched closer to me, while I stood there, frozen.  Her skinny frame attempted to press against mine.  Her wiry (from over-dying) burnt sienna hair stabbed my forehead.  She gave me two rough pats on the back, using the palms of her hands to their full potential, then stepped back.  We both looked at each other in slight amusement, passing back glances that read, “Let’s not do this ever again; nor shall we speak of this strange embrace.”

This is an excerpt of my second story for the creative non-fiction writing class I am currently taking.  This particular scene was a favourite among my classmates. If you want to read the full story (when I’m done…the first draft is pretty fucking rough; the final copy will be due next Thursday), feel free to email me at lazybirds at hotmail or message me on facebook or whatever.

Today, I was talking to my mom. During the conversation she randomly asked me “does he take his leg off when you guys are having sex?” Referring to the guy I’ve been seeing who has a prosthetic leg. My dad then asked “does he beat you with it too if you’ve been naughty?” FML

      This is one area where I am relieved that my parents and I don’t really have a relationship where we talk on a regular basis about life.  I recall the one (yes, one) time my mom spoke to me about sex.  We were in the car, driving back to their house after picking up groceries from one of those Asian markets along Victoria Drive, when she asked out of the blue, “So do you use protection?”
Stunned, I stared straight at the traffic ahead of us, wondering how much it would hurt if I jumped out of the car right then.  It wasn’t the actual act of rolling that made me nervous, but the possibility of getting smashed by a car driving past, just as I would be rolling away to safety.

“OHMYGOD REALLY?  We’re going to talk about this now?  Umm yes.  I’m on the pill.”


[end conversation and she continues driving]
I was 19 years old. 


I had plans to go bowling last night, but they were ruined; did you know that a lane reservation is apparently a requirement these days?  I sure as hell didn’t.   Oh well.  Now we know for next time. Toby’s was a good alternate choice, except for those ugly paintings they have upstairs.  
Kristina and I were talking yesterday about how we should start our own bowling league.  Good idea, right?  yes!  I think we mostly want matching outfits or shirts or jackets or something along those lines.  What would we call ourselves?
It wouldn’t matter if we were stinkers, either.  Are you in?  Summer bowling league (or whenever these leagues start)