Blonde

Or what if I were a bombshell -- a blond bombshell? Would you still be interested? Or maybe you'd be MORE interested? I need to know -- I need to know why boys think the way they think. It's sick, right?

Cleavage

Cleavage is a funny thing.  It gets so much attention from boys it boggles the mind -- it's almost as if they can't help but look... I've got to admit: I like that!

TJS

Freckles

The Internet is a funny thing.  There was a time when I used to think that my readers were interested in my comics & stories because I was interesting.  Sure, I knew that being young and um, nubile probably had something to do with it, but I had no idea that a lot of my appeal came from my ethnicity.

You see, as it turns out, the Internet is overloaded with guys who are OBSESSED with Asian girls.  If you don't believe me look it up -- it's crazy out there!

I'm on record as saying that I don't consider myself Asian:  Technically I'm half Pinay, half Caucasian.  The Pinay part makes me 1/2 Pacific Islander, but everyone ~ especially frisky guys ~ want to categorize me as Asian.  I'd be happy & proud to be Asian, but that's simply not the case.

But what if I weren't Asian-looking, or even an Islander?  What if I were Caucasian?  Not a fat basement-dwelling white guy, like some of you have suggested, but a super cute white chick... like with freckles and stuff?  Would you still love me?  Would you still be interested in being my Knight in a shining Star Wars t-shirt?

I wonder.

XOXO,

Tera

Doc Martin

Do you watch Doc Martin?  It's on DVD and PBS here in the States.

Doc Martin is a TV series that takes place in a quaint little seaside village.  The story revolves around Martin Ellingham, a MD who suffers sudden onset hemophobia and is forced to change his career from surgeon to country doctor.

Dr. Ellingham doesn't suffer fools gladly, in fact he is downright rude to the point of hilarity.

The stories are generally about the trials and tribulations of a stuffy, insufferable man working in a village where everyone is up in his business.

It's really great!

I just caught up on the first four season while laid up with back problems.

TJS

The Dark Knight Rises review

Pixar-style Catwoman

TDKR is okay Summer blockbuster fare but ~ for me ~ it fails as a film.

SPOILER ALERT!

Too many familiar elements lifted from other films sink this ship: Index cards featuring beats from Rocky 3, Usual Suspects and Iron Giant (to name a few) must've been tacked up on the Nolan Brother's refrigerator.

I rolled my eyes, and literally almost vomited when the audience cheered that Batman wasn't dead.  Oh brother!

No shame here though: John Lasseter & Pixar have been successfully using this Mad Lib movie making formula for years!

TJS

PS: I like Catwoman a lot!

Today's special

I hurt my back.  I'm not sure how.  Maybe during yoga?  Maybe my new desk chair, or memory-foam mattress?  I got a new car too, and the seats are really low.  Could that hurt one's back?  Like I said I'm not sure how it happened: it just happened.

I'm not crippled or anything, but it hurts like the devil every time I move.

Are there any MDs out there who want to feel up a girl in return for a back exam?  I'm totally serious: a free no-questions-asked external grope for some equally free medical advice and maybe a prescription.

I would also consider this offer for anyone who had good painkillers:  a good five minute external grope for equally good pain killers.

I look (and feel) great naked, BTW.  Anyone who has seen or participated will confirm this.

Write me at terasanders@gmail.com.  I promise I won't tell a soul.

Health care.  Sigh.  Why's it gotta be so expensive?

Reflexology

I had a great massage at a local reflexology spa.  The place is called, "Jolly Foot."  How great a name is that?

The masseuse massaged my feet into oblivion.  *Sigh* I was thinking about asking her to marry me afterwards, but I didn't know the right words in Chinese... and I'm mostly straight so that probably wouldn't work out too well.

Me & my jolly feet are still basking in the afterglow!

XOXO
TJS

June gloom

I'm back in sunny Los Angeles , but it's not all that sunny.  In fact, it's not sunny at all.  They call it, "June gloom," but it's extended well into July.

I don't mind the cool, cloudy weather, but it's just kind of unexpected, y'know.  It's usually bright and super hot this time of year.

On an episode of the Sopranos, Tony once said, "Remember when is the lowest form of conversation."  I'm not so sure that's accurate; my vote is for conversations about the weather.  I know I'm slamming my own blog entry here, but I can't think of anything less interesting.

Sunday in San Diego

Well, Comicon is over (for me at least;) I've had my fill.  Like I mentioned earlier: I spent most of my time as a product representative.  But I did get to go to some panels, view a few teaser trailers, and see some pretty great costumes.

There was even someone selling comic books here, allegedly:)

I've been attending Comicon for a few years and it has always been more about movies & TV than comic books.  I hear tale that it was once nothing but comics; writers panels, comic book dealers, artists signing their work with fans queueing up for blocks.

It's definitely not like that these days.  All you really see are corporate displays... seems a lot like a car show, or any industry show these days.  Some people seem upset by this, but I feel it's just natural progression.
Nothing remains the same -- it the nature of things.

I'm sure some day people will pine for the simplicity of Comicon 2012.

Booth babe

So, like I said, I'm at Comicon. I usually attend as a Industry professional, but I forgot to register this year so the only way I could get in is by taking a gig as a "product representative"...that's a nice way of saying I'm a scantily-clad "booth babe."

It started as a fun gig... well, until I started running into people I know from work -- now I'm totally embarrassed!  My costume totally shows ass cheek & side boob! I don't want my co-workers seeing my ass cheeks & side boobs, would you?

XOXO,
TJS

Chifferobe

So I'm in America's Finest City (San Diego) for Comicon this week.  I went to Preview Night last night and saw a bunch of amazing stuff: stuff I wanted to buy but stuff that would probably end up in a cardboard box somewhere so I didn't give in to my fangirl urges.  I mean, who really needs a Walking Dead zombie action figure anyway?


I can barely watch that show, BTW.  It scares me like crazy, and I live alone, so I'm always thinking there's a zombie lurking in my linen closet.  Don't laugh: it could happen.  Bath salts are turning respectable folks into flesh-craving freaks nationwide.  Don't you read the news?


I'm writing to you from a lovely 5 star hotel.  Okay that's a lie, it's a 2 star hotel, and the bedspread smells kind of... spermy.  Not that I would know that smell first hand, mind you: I'm a princess, and princesses don't know, or write, about such thing. So there you go.


The reason I THINK it smells spermy is because just this morning, while doing yoga, I discovered a Polaroid of a fat guy with a boner under the chifferobe.  The Polaroid was a self portrait, shot by said fat guy, in my hotel room's mirror.  It's horrifying, revolting, and hilarious all at once.  Why is this fat guy so proud of his weiner? Why did he leave the picture behind?  Did he want an innocent yoga-doing girl to find it?  Who uses a Polaroid anymore? When was this thing taken?  Is a bygone boner from the 70's?  It's hard to tell.  Anyway, that's why pretty much everything in this room smells spermy to me.


I'm going to go scrub myself down with a wire brush and head to Comicon Day 1.  More on this later...

The French leave

I've become famous (more like infamous) for my propensity for the "the French leave."


A French leave refers to the act of leaving a party without bidding farewell to -- and thereby not disturbing -- the host.


In American culture it's considered rude to leave a party without saying goodbye, but -- in my mind -- it's much more rude to create a scene over the fact that you're leaving; air kisses and phony sentiments are not for me!


On this subject I am unapologetic. 


I think that the French -- and dogs -- got it right.  Dogs, you ask?  Yup, in the wonderful world of canines there are no goodbyes, only hellos!

Flaky

I've been called a lot of things in my life: the B word, the C word, the S word and the W word are a few of my favorites.  They're all descriptive, and can be very hot when used in the right um... circumstance.  But one not so hot aspersion keeps coming up, and it got me a little worried. That particular aspersion is: flaky. 

I'm flaky? 

Here's the definition:

Flay-ky [fley-kee]

1. Of or like flakes.
2. Lying or cleaving off in flakes or layers.
3. Slang: unreliable, eccentric; dizzy: a flaky brother-in-law.

It's the slang definition that concerns me.  Unreliable?  Eccentric?  Dizzy?  What?  Me? Ha ha ha!  Just because I disappear for months on end, pull an occasional "French leave" (more on this later),  bat my eyelashes to get out of trouble, and run screaming from every relationship I've ever cared about doesn't mean I'm flaky!  It means I'm a twenty-something year-old girl, and twenty-something year-old girls have an excuse: 

A woman's prerogative.  

Look it up, you've probably been pronouncing and spelling it wrong your whole life!  

And you call me flaky!

XOXO,

TJS