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Memoirs of An Anti-Geisha

Arthur Golden better step the fuck back because there is no way I am going to let him speak for me. I don't care how long "Mr. Bestseller" lived in Japan or how well he knows the language. He may have "poetic ease" and "exquisite story telling technique" but he could never capture my elegance. Americans buy up his books like hotcakes, but do they know what happens to the beautiful geishas hundreds of years later (across an ocean and in America?) That's what I thought. The men in Japan were mean, but life here has been a bitch.

I wipe my eye gunk off under my desk, sometimes on the dressing room mirror. I pick my nose when I am driving and flick my boogers out the window, I fart and cough at the same time so that nobody can tell what came from where (because I am a real lady). I blow my nose in the shower all over my hand and then when I go in for that big interview later that day, I use it to shake Mr. White's hand- and boy does it shine! I give the finger liberally while driving through my neighborhood in Los Angeles, San Francisco, and tried to see if I could get it to catch on in Europe (but failed).

I am an anti-geisha. I am not Japanese, I am Chinese. There is a difference between the two, you know. I have gigantic size 9 1/2 feet, crater zits that breaks out through my "silky skin" before and after and during my period, and a loud mouth that screams profanities and insults and my mind. I have a little pot-belly, I have an ass that needs to go to the gym. I have hangnails and callouses and blisters and baggage (emotional, historical, and whatever the hell else kind of baggage that is keeping HIM from taking a chance on someone who actually gives a shit about herself).

I drink forties, coke with whiskey, and spoiled juice. When I get drunk, I give the finger some more and tell strangers to "fuck off." I chew with my mouth open. I once threw piss (not my own, because I am a real lady-remember?) at a guy who fucked me over. I have a higher tolerance than you and dance for nobody but myself. I won't clean up, even after myself. I go ape-shit at garage sales. I go even more ape-shit at the 99-cents store.

I am a beautiful animal.

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