Four weeks late, but just as "Merry"!

Some of you may recall a certain blog entry last month that was full of the pain and anguish of disappointment.

I was upset because Michael and I would not be able to take our holiday pictures in time to send out Christmas cards.

Those of you single gals and guys may mock my devotion to holiday greeting cards, but (back me up married ladies), it somehow starts to matter a lot when you're married. Marriage does strange things to women (maybe I only speak for myself). But all of a sudden I find myself starting to wear pearls, using placemats and coasters, scrapbooking, and caring about holiday cards!

Well anyway, several weeks later, we took the picture. And I happily signed, sealed, and will deliver all my greeting cards tomorrow. (Did you know the postage rate was raised to 39 cents?! Sheesh!)

Of course we are many weeks shy of Christmas, and a few weeks too late for New Year's, so they are officially our Chinese New Year cards.

The picture we sent in (below) is admittedly not everything I had hoped for. But atleast there was snow in the background, which is what mostly matters for this pair of native Californians experiencing their first white winter.


So from the bottom of our fobby hearts, we wish you:
xin nien kuai le

(p.s. School starts tomorrow so I just updated Law and Disorder. It was a nice long break while it lasted.)

The Model Model?

The average US model is 5'10'' and 110 lbs.

The average US woman is 5'4'' and 140 lbs.

What does that look like? A whole lotta anorexia and bulimia.

Studies show that eating disorders are now appearing in girls (and some boys) earlier and earlier (around ages 9 and 10 instead of the previous ripe old age of 12). What could possibly be the cause of such a tragic pandemic?

That was a sarcastic question (in case you didn't notice) because the answer should be obvious to anyone who flips open a magazine, watches TV, or even glances by a billboard. Our society glorifies skinniness. Even actresses who are unconventional-looking in the face can make it as heroines in the industry as long as they are skinny (e.g. Jennifer Anniston, SJP, Sandra Oh, etc). But if you're not skinny, you'll rarely be a Hollywood star. You'll always be the supporting actress, the fat friend, the comic relief.

Our cultural values are undeniable and most young girls are too perceptive to ignore it. I once had a very precocious five year-old tell me, "Mommy is skinny like Elastigirl and Daddy is fat. Skinny is good." She had just watched the Incredibles which featured the ever-stretchable mother figure, which apparently reminded her of her own. I worried for that chubby toddler since she was heavy-set like her father and played always with ideally proporitioned dolls and Disney heroines. She's already aware of the differences. I smell a 9-year-old anorexic.

Even I, an enlightened, mature woman cannot help but feel a little discouraged everytime I open a catalogue or magazine to be greeted by page after page of women who look dramatically taller and leaner than myself. Multiply that by the soft impressionable clay of youth and it's no wonder you have statistics like the following:

40% of 1st, 2nd or 3rd grade girls want to be thinner.
80% of 10 year olds are worried in case they become fat.
70% of 6th grade girls surveyed said that their concern about their weight, shape and diet started when they were aged 9-11.

So let's revisit the concept of the model model.

Perhaps it isn't healthy as a society to idealize a form that is far different than what most woman can ever achieve. Maybe we should have "real" looking women be our heroines and models. Maybe ads should look more like the Dove campaign for beauty (pictured above) and not Calvin Klein soft-porn. Why should American women be represented in the media in exaggerated proportions that they clearly do not possess in real life? Why should "models" not be actual and true models?

Maybe if they were, we wouldn't have a bumper-crop of otherwise healthy girls loathing their bodies and sacrificing themselves on the altar of futility and unattainable worth.

Around the world in eighty days

Ok, so I didn't go around the world in eighty days.

But I did go coast-to-coast in six days,
visiting my hometown in NorCal.

Here are some highlights:

1. I saw March of the Penguins, finally. Frankly it could've conveyed the same message in half the time, with half the pseudo-drama, but I learned that baby penguins are the cutest things God ever made!

2. I sat next to a salesman who talked to me for 4 of the 6 hours of my flight. Wierd. I always thought it would be cool and spontaneous to strike up a long convo with your next-seat neighbor, but it wasn't. I wish I had read instead.

3. I bought the most incredible pair of brown boots. They are the most intriguing color of brown and on super-sale. (This picture is not my boot -- mine are much cuter). I take back my bitterness in the last blog, I found half my "Rachel." The other half is a wool coat that is yet to be discovered.

4. Home (places, people) is exactly the same as I expected, which is exactly the same as I had left it six years ago.

5. This is the first time I flew JetBlue and I will never go back. They give you cashews instead of peanuts, TerraBlue Chips instead of Sun Chips, and they have individual tv's with 36 different cable channels. (That's right, that means TLC, AE, Lifetime, MTV, VH-1, Food, HGTV, Comedy, etc.)

6. Watching A&E is where I learned about some alternative lifestyles (and I don't mean sexually alternative). Dog is a bounty hunter that lives in Hawaii with what appears to be his six kids and amply-bossomed wife. He's tough on crime but soft on criminals because he knows what it is to be given a second chance. He calls the perps "bro" and "son" and prays before he goes out for the bounty.

7. I was also riveted by the show Inked, which features the life and times of a popular tatto parlor in Las Vegas. These people are for real. This is how I would choose to look if I weren't such a square. The show also tells interesting side-stories of the customers who come in for a tatt. They are mostly geeky working-stiffs over thirty. Sure blows the whole, "tattoos are cool" image. I realized that tattoos don't make you "cool", drugs do.

8. The trip would've been much better if I weren't sick almost the entire time. What is wrong with my body?! Everytime I get to chillax (Thanksgiving break, Christmas break, and now Winter break) I've gotten sick! Give me a (real) break!

But in the morning, Leah.

There is a sermon by Tim Keller that has created the phrase, "It's a Leah."

Poor Leah. She had weak eyes. (Who knows what that means). But her sister Rachel was beautiful of face and form. (And we all know what that means).


The only way that Laban could marry off his weak-eyed daugther was to trick Jacob into thinking that he was marrying Rachel. Imagine the horror inside the marriage tent the morning after the raucus wedding party.

Jacob had toiled 7 years for the love of his life, Rachel, and as he rolled over to kiss his new bride good-morning...OMG, Leah!, What are YOU doing here?!!!!

But isn't that what we always experience after attaining what we've been pining for for so long? We think we finally got our Rachel, but in the morning, it's a disappointment, a let-down, a Leah.

For six months of blood, sweat, and tears, I focused on the day I would be free and could shop to my heart's content. But after seven stores and five hours of feet-blistering perusal, do you know what I bought? Socks. Yeah, socks. And some refill makeup.

I realized that I have arrived at a new stage in my shopping life. I'm in shopping limbo, if you will. I'm too old to buy the cheapy stuff that used to thrill me as a college student. But I'm too poor to afford the chichi stuff that has become my baseline standard now.

Case-in-point: I saw a gorgeous DKNY wool coat, $250. And then there was a heavily discounted pair of Coach boots, $300. Trying to shop when you're a poor student: Pointless. Even if you have a Mastercard.

So, here I am, the morning after, not one article of clothing richer, getting ready to start the fresh hell of a new semester, and feeling the deeper implication of waking up with "Leah".

I should learn to be happy now. There is no Rachel. Because in the morning, until the good Lord calls me home, it will always be Leah.

And on the third day he arose!

If I had the patience to find out how to play music on my blog I would be blasting the Resurrection piece Bach wrote from his Mass in B minor.

It's a crazy, wild, full-on, thousand member chorus belting out: Et resurrexit! For the whole song it's just those two words strung out line after line. Et resurre-he-he-he-xit, Et resurre-he-he-he-xit! It's really out of control.

And that's the essence of how I felt yesterday after b.s.-ing through the last of my killer eight-hour exams.

For six months straight I've done nothing but study without so much as a day off, treading water like a madwoman, and now, finally, I can breathe again.

So now, please pardon me as I go crazy at Downtown Crossing today, (aka, Boston's Cheap Shopper's Heaven). I need to make up for everything I missed: Christmas, my birthday, and New Years. That's a lot of shopping.

Michael's ready too. He has it all planned out. He's bringing along some favorite magazines, books, Sodoku, and a fold-out stool. Unlike FEMA, he's prepared!

Self-imposed lockdown

My last of three finals will be on 1/11.

I'll probably go awol until then.
See y'all when my release date rolls around...

Mummy Dearest

I love my parents and I'm sure they love me too.

But if I weren't so sure of that fact, this previous phone conversation on my birthday might have made me question their affection.

*********************************************
Mom: Hi Honey, how are you doing?

ME: Great. I'm studying as usual. It sucks.

Mom: Awww. Well, we finally got your Christmas present in the mail today.

ME: Sheesh! It's 4 days late! Stupid post-office lady assured me it would arrive before Christmas day

Mom: Well, your dad loves it. He put it on his desk.

ME: Ummmm...Mom...don't you want to tell me something?

Mom: Hmm? Tell you what?

ME: You know...tell me something?

Mom: (silence)

ME: MOMMY!!! Isn't there something you want to TELL me, TODAY?!!!!

Mom: (long pause) OH!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

I turned 21 today (again).

Frederic Douglas, like many former slaves of his generation, never knew his birthdate. Thus, he never really knew how old he was.

Imagine. Imagine having that most central piece of personal identity stripped from you. What is it like to not know how old you are?

If I didn't know that I was born on 12/29/1979, I guess I would constantly be guessing how old I am. And right now...I would guess that I'm...21.

I feel young, naive, on the cusp of adulthood. And heck, I'm still a student. But I've been around the block long enough to be out of my teens.

So as a salute to that great African American orator, I will celebrate my birthday with the age that I feel, not the one that I am.

A Gift From Me to You

Merry Christmas! Here is a senseless SNL video to help you get through the holidays. When all the family has left, the pies have been eaten, and the gifts laid waste...here's one more present waiting for you:

OPEN ME!

The scum of the earth

For those of you with tender hearts, who want to deny the presence of pure evil in this world, I offer proof that should shatter your rose-tinted glasses once and for all:

Tricky virus-laden spam disguised as legit email.

That's right. You've seen them before. They have email addresses like service@bankofamerica.com or account@stanford.edu. And then when you open the inimical instrument, you find there is an attachment you must click on. But woe to you if you do! One false click and you download a virus that may wipe away everything you've worked so hard for and render your laptop nothing more than an overpriced paperweight.

That's evil. Pure evil. Why would anyone do that? Unless they're evil.

It's one thing to send us non-viral spam full of advertisements that would entice those who have a weakness for porn and gambling. I can see that you have a business you're trying to run and my detriment is your gain.

But it's quite another thing to just plant a dumb virus in my computer and cost me dearly without you ever get anything out of it! Except the sheer pleasure of knowing you are hurting others. You suck.

There's a special place in hell for people like you.

Maybe I'm trying to tell me something...

The body never lies.

I may tell myself: I'm not stressed; There's no reason to worry; etc. until I'm blue in the face. But my body is evincing signs that I'm just deep in a river in Africa, De-Nile.

For five years I haven't had so much as one cold sore blister. And now I've had two in just one month! For three years I've only been really sick maybe once or twice. And now I'm sick twice in under a month!

Although the reality is that I really have NO reason to get stressed, I must still be really stressed. But why should I be? I don't think it's about school because I've never cared that much and I'm pretty much assured of straight B's (which is good because, in my world, "B" stands for "!Bueno!").

I think I'm stressed about "work-life" balance, or lack thereof. They say that socializing with people is a great and effective way of boosting your immune system. And I have to admit, I haven't socialized in a very, very long time.

But the body's reaction to not getting enough "people time" is pretty counterintuitive: To grow disgusting sores and feel ill? Like that's really going to help the socializing any!

Takes one to know one...

I took a quickie test to see how well I understood men. I think the results are readily explainable by saying that I've always sympathized with guys more than girls. If I took a test about how well I understood women, I'd surely flunk.

You Have Your PhD in Men

You understand men almost better than anyone. You accept that guys are very different, and you read signals well. Work what you know about men, and your relationships will be blissful.

How Well Do You Understand Men?

Ma vie en pluie

(picture courtesy of dalicasso)

I'm guessing he/she didn't like the sermon...

This past Sunday was supposed to be the day Michael and I took our "Boston Christmas Card Photo."

I had waited weeks for the perfect conditions to make an ideal photo: Plenty of clean white snow, bright blue skies, and Michael and me dressed-up in festive colors (aka nice church-clothes). This Sunday was the first that all these conditions were right. And Michael, who was stalwartly resistent to the whole idea, had to comply because it caused him no great inconvenience. He would be present and dressed-up anyway.

But this Sunday came and went and it didn't happen. Why? Because at that opportune moment when all the stars were rightly aligned, I wasn't in the mood to smile.

I couldn't smile because this Sunday when I went back to the church pew, after service and after socializing in the main hall, I discovered that my purse was missing. I had left it on my jacket and gloves in the center of the pew and all that greeted me when I returned to retrieve my things, were my jacket and gloves.

Now, I don't like assuming that theft occurs behind church walls, but I think the most likely conclusion of the matter is that SOMEONE STOLE MY PURSE!

The inconvenience and grief and obvious financial loss, however, is not as upsetting as the fact that I'm not going to get that great holiday photo now! That ship has sailed, that window has closed, and that door has shut! Well, I suppose I could try again on the 18th, but if there's no good snow and sky that day, it'll be one photoless Christmas for the Chungs. And besides, I don't like to send out my cards that late.

Ah, the true spirit of Christmas

I have a post-it on my desk with the title "Xmas List."

On it I record all the things I want to buy myself for Christmas.

Michael eyed it today and in the middle of grabbing it said, "Oooo, is this a list of what you are going to get me for Christmas?!"

Yes, its every man for himself at the Chung household. We're like the anti-thesis of the couple in O'Henry's The Gift of the Magi.

I guess you had to be there

Today it snowed like crazy! It was amazing!

The snow was so fresh and powdery, the exact consistency of powdered sugar. There was such a gratifying crunch when you sink your feet into the deep drifts. And I made my very first snow angel!

The snow fell on all the bare tree braches and made them look like huge glistening snowflakes. It was really one of the greatest sights I've ever experienced; right up there with liquid gold sunsets.

I wonder if native New Englanders get as excited as I do about the snow. It's so great, I bet they do. How could anyone tire of this breathtaking beauty? I understand that snow can be gross and dirty and icy, but I'm talking about the softest, purest, fluffiest flakes you ever saw.

Ok, this is probably the boringest post I've posted in a while because I just can't stop ranting and raving about the snow! The snow! It's beautiful! It just makes me want to jump around in it and make a million snow angels and have snowball fights and more!

But no, can't. Stupid finals!!

Welcome to the real world

For the last two days Dr. Phil has been doing his "love smart" series.

He's helping women in their thirties snag a man. These women, for one reason or another, never get asked out on that "second date." There's a lot of hidden cameras and microphones so the audience can sneak a peek at the participants' dates and analyze what they did wrong during the lunch or dinner.

One woman was just awful. A total barbarian. At the sushi restaurant she played with all their food and touched everything with her germy fingers, just to touch it! And then she repeatedly insulted where her date was from, which was Ohio. She derisively called it "Cow-town." And maybe worst of all, she pelted him with questions rapid-fire-style about his dating past, ex-girlfriends, and commented on his answers with nothing but negative assumptions. "So, you're a serial dater" "So, you're a jerk" etc...

Anyway, I watched with morbid interest.

I thought to myself, "This is a whole genre of life that I may never know about." I've never been on a "get to know each other" date with anyone, ever. My brother, on the other hand, now that he's edging on thirty, is starting to become an old pro at this. But no one has ever said to me, "Oh, you should meet so-and-so, he's really great and you two would really hit it off. I'll have him call you next week and ask you out to lunch sometime."

I met my husband when I was nineteen (gosh that sounds so ridiculously young to me now) and that was pretty much it.

But I do always wonder what it would be like to go on those awkward "getting acquainted" quasi-dates. On one hand it sounds like great fun: go out to eat, watch a movie, go to a bowling alley, whatever...and all paid for too! What could be so bad about that? But I guess it could be a real ego-crusher if you never get that second date.

All in all, I think I'm grateful not to ever have to go on that roller-coaster of uncertainty. There's so many things that people (including myself) could be picky about and the chances of liking the person you've been set up with is depressingly small.

It just seems so much more romantic to "bump" into your love when you least expect it, when you're not even looking.

But that's all Hollywood lies and crap that you get from watching too many inane romantic comedies. Fiction would have us believe that the gods just magically set up two hearts that were "meant to beat as one" in some coincidental accident.

"Oh, you ride this train too?"
"No, but I just missed my usual one cause my cat got sick and I had to call a vet before catching this train."
"Oh, well, there's only one empty seat left, next to me..."
Blech!

The real world is Dr. Phil taping your first date and telling you that you need to ask better questions and maintain eye-contact with your date.

Pure snow, moldy water, and no life

Today it snowed! Finally. Everything looked beautiful, like in a postcard. So this picture isn't the best representation of what it looked like.

Also, I solved the mystery of why my stomach hurts like crazy sometimes.

I think it's because I drink moldy water. I haven't washed my cantene for...maybe a month? And I saw mold in it today. I drank out of it so much yesterday...and come to think of it, the water was strangely murky.

Lately, my time has been consumed by applying for summer jobs and studying for finals. I wish I could have my life back. Everyday I make all these half-ass resolutions in my head that next semester, I'm NOT going to let school take over my life. But if I were a betting girl, I'd bet against me on those odds. But people can change!

Two Chinese Students Make Me *sniff* Proud

I've never been particularly proud of being Chinese. Until this week.

I mean, sure we built the great wall; and our civilization is ancient; and we invented a lot of things centuries before other nations did.

All of that doesn't really mean anything to me though. None of that added so much good to humanity that I could hold it up and say, "Wow, I'm proud to be Chinese."

Until this week. I saw this short video clip of two Chinese students, and for the first time in my life, I stood a little taller, head a litte higher, and with hand on heart, thought:

Yes, this makes me proud to be Chinese.

P.S. Don't you dare leave this blog without watching the clip!!! This is my people at their finest hour! (And make sure your sound is on to hear the clip).

Master and Commander

Do you ever wonder what happens if you don't cough when you really, really, I mean really need to? Does your head explode? Well, I unwittingly did a little experiment in class today where I forced myself not to cough even though the urge was killing me. What were the results?

Well, first of all, the context of the "experiment" was me, sitting in class, in the very middle of a very narrow aisle (read: I couldn't get up and go outside and cough to my heart's content). So I tried to suppress my cough. For about 5 times, I was unsuccessful and the cough won out. But then I steeled my nerves and really focused and ended up doing a pathetic muffled snorting noise which made my classmates turn around and ask me if I was ok.

And of course the urge still didn't go away (this was one serious tickle in the throat), so I said to myself: Christina, I know you want to give up, but don't. For humanity's sake, for the furtherance of scientific discovery, you need to sum up all your willpower to go through with this experiment. You must find out what happens when you force yourself not to cough!

And as the tickle in my throat started to crest to an almost unbearable point, I shut my eyes and concentrated 100% of my faculties on not coughing (or making faint muffled sounds). I aimed for complete silence. My forehead was beaded with sweat. And just when the urge was so intense, I thought I could bear it no longer...it passed! That awful tickle just disappeared, vanished, and lost all power over me. I had won. I HAD CONQUERED!

So the next time you feel powerless over your bodily functions, just remember this. You will not die if you hold that urge to pee, cough, burp, what have you. YOU are the master of your body.

Now go in peace young grasshopper.
And may the force be with you.

And speaking of kisses...

(See Kiss of Death post below)

I won't be kissing anyone for awhile. I got a big ol' STUPID cold sore! Argh! I hate those things!

And this little OTC product, which promises so much, doesn't seem to be helping!

The Kiss of Death

I just heard the saddest news via Michael via CNN.

A teenage girl who was allergic to peanuts died after she kissed her boyfriend, who had just eaten a peanut butter jelly sandwich.

I didn't think anything could be sadder than the tale of Romeo and Juliet, but this takes the cake.

And the take away lesson here is an oft too neglected public service announcement: People with peanut allergies should never ever let their guard down, and nor should those who love them.

Thanksgiving v. Christmas

Today Michael came home and asked me what I thought was the most stupid question ever:

Which holiday do you like better, Christmas or Thanksgiving?

I said, "Are you serious? That's like asking: What do you like better, ten bucks or a million? Obviously Christmas!!!!!!!!"

And he replied, "Yeah, I like Christmas better too, but I was talking to a friend today (who has 3 kids under 7) and he says he likes Thanksgiving more because it's got all the wonderful things about Christmas, but you don't have to worry about buying gifts."

I scratched my head for a second and thought, "Yeah, that's true."

But the gifts are the best part!

So in honor of 'the most stupid question ever,' I'd just like to say that this Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for Christmas.

Cue up the violins...

Get out the cheese, cause here comes the whine...

My throat is sore. I'm sick. My stomach is cramping because it's "that time." And I have a 10 page motion due tomorrow morning (which I don't know how to write and didn't start til now). Poor me.

So Singable

Gosh I love to lip-sync to Jewel.

Don't judge me! Come on, how many of you secretly listen to Foolish Games and mouth out the words with strained expressions of feigned emotion? Yeah, you know who you are. I know you're out there.

It can't just be me...can it?

Too Soon Gone

Growing up all your life in California, people are always telling you how great the weather is all year round. But they also never fail to mention the downside to paradise, which is that you never experience a real "Fall".

If I had a dime for everytime someone told me how beautiful the Fall is in New England, I would be a rich man (ok, maybe just fifty bucks richer, but that's a lot for a this poor student!).

So, naturally it follows that I was really excited to experience my first, offical "Fall" in New England, no less.

And indeed it is more beautiful than words can express and the little of it that I experienced (walking 15 minutes to class each day) was just too little to enjoy it fully. But there were some moments when the wind suddenly picked up and thousands of bold red and yellow leaves would flutter down from the copse of trees like so much glittering confetti that you felt the most stomach churning nostalgia for the perfect New England childhood you never had.

This year's Fall was altogether too painful to endure. I hated glancing up from my blackletter books to see the glory of Autumn unfolding beyond my sterile windowed walls. Next year I hope I have more time to enjoy it.

It is rumored that the snow will start falling next week. Winter is coming. Already the trees are nearly bare and the wind has a sharper chill. The blue skies turn now to grey and the technicolor leaves rot on the ground. The grass has all but died.

As the earth prepares for the dead of winter, I can't help but wonder if I will one day wake up to find that I am too soon old and too late wise.

The Dork at the Gym

Today I made a fool of myself on the treadmill at my school gym.

It was all stupid VH-1's fault.

My school gym is a TV-junky's paradise (which is the only reason I go) because every cardio machine is equipped with it's own personal TV screen and it has cable! All you have to do is plug your earphones into the jack and you're good to go. So there I was doing my usual walking at a snail's pace on the treadmill and watching VH1. They were showing "The 50 Most Awesomely Bad Music Videos," in which comedians mocked hit videos that are played in the background.

I snickered a little as they went through Meatloaf, Cisqo's Thong Song, JaRule, and JLo. "Don't be fooled by the rocks that she's got." one comedian quipped, "Be fooled by the Mercedes and the mansion and the furs, but heaven forbid you get fooled by the rocks."

But then they got to Nelly's song, Pimp Juice, and I completely lost it. One comedian said, "Unless there's a clinic nearby, nobody should be trying your pimp juice." Other comedians made "Eeew" faces. A black comedian said, "Pimp Jews? I don't want no Pimpin' Jews. And I don't want no Jewish Pimps either. What? Oh, Juice! You mean to drink? No way man!"

And at that point, I could not contain my laughter. I laughed so loud and hard and couldn't stop! But then I did something even dorkier, I tried to cover it up by ending my laugh with a coughing noise! So there I was, looking like a convulsing idiot, half laughing, half snorting, half coughing, and then laughing all over again cause the jokes about Nelly's pimp juice just kept coming.

All I can say is, you watch comedy at your own expense at the gym.

I Love Me!

Today's blog is dedicated to Aricelli.

She's a girl I never met, but I heard of her once many years ago (in 1999) and am still haunted by her memory to this day.

My friend Julia told me about her. Julia was Aricelli's roommate. Apparently, Aricelli was a narcissist par excellence. She had pictures of herself all over the dorm room walls and around her mirror, she decorated with mini-posters that said, "You're the best" or "Hottest Chick in the World" or whatever. (I may be exaggerating but not by much, believe me).

Julia said that every morning, Aricelli would wake up, kiss her image in the mirror and say, "You are so beautiful!" and other congratulatory adulations. And the strangest thing was, according to Julia, that Aricelli was not at all what our culture would deem "beautiful." She had jelly rolls, splotchy skin, and was only about 5 feet tall.

I have mixed feelings about Aricelli and her Monster Truck-sized self-esteem. On the one hand, she's like my hero! I wish I could be so full of myself so I would never have to feel inadequate all the time and in so many ways. Yet on the other hand, it's like, "Dude! Get a grip!"

But everytime I witness a beautiful girl express timidity about her looks, I think about Aricelli. How varied are the distributions of beauty and confidence. One often has almost nothing to do with the other.

Waaaaaaahhhhhh!

Sad. Cal just lost its game to USC. I had such high hopes for my alma mater. So much promise so quickly dashed. By the 2nd quarter you could already see the horrible end. No thanks to Ayoob, or should I say A-boob. If that useless quarterback could just learn how to pass we could've gotten our running game on! @#$&!

It's the most wonderful time of the year

It's almost Christmas again and you know what that means,
time to be more materialistic than usual!

Dear Santa,
I've been a very good girl this year and you probably want to reward me, as you do all nice children around the world. That being said,may I be so bold as to direct your donative intent in this direction...


You can buy those lovely babies here. Take my advice Sanata, forget making these in your Northpole workshop, internet shopping is the wave of the future.

Your oldest believer,
Christina

P.S. Oh yeah, and of course I also ask for Peace on Earth and Goodwill Towards Men and the end of poverty, blah blah blah... But if you get too busy to do all that, just the earrings will be fine.

Honestly

What would you do if you knew you could not fail?


I would sing.
I would have kids, gobs of them.
I would stop avoiding people.
I would throw lots of dinner parties.
And I would enter the Ms. Universe Pagent.
Oh, and run for president.

If Money Were No Object

What would you do if money were no object?

I hate this question. It always burns me.

Because.

If I had all the money in the world I would definitely, without a shadow of a doubt, not be doing what I'm doing now (i.e. going to law school).

When I was a senior in highschool my dad said to me (and he must've been on crack or something because this is so uncharacteristic of him):

Honey, you can do anything you want in life. Any dream you have, you can go for it.

And I said (mind you, this was my country music phase):
I want to be a cowgirl. I want to live 20 miles away from the nearest commercial establishment and tend my own livestock.

I certainly don't want that anymore. But I miss the feeling of possibility I had when my dad said those unrealistic words to me.

If money were no object I would never read cases. I would never read law review articles. Heck, I would never even read Time magazine articles. Well, let's get real, I would just never read, period. (Except novels for children).

What would I do?
I couldn't bear to write it.

(*Postscript: Little epiphany here. Upon further reflection, I actually don't think it's money keeping me away from pursuing my true loves. It's guilt. Being happy makes me feel guilty. Man, I need therapy.)

The Sky is Falling!

I looked out my window today and what did I see?

SNOW! IT'S SNOWING!!! I had to go out and investigate further...


This California hick has never seen snow before! Better zip up...


WOW! The first snow of the year!

If I Met George Clooney Today...

If I met George Clooney today,
And we decided to go down the street,
To the nearest cafe,
And grab something to eat,
I think I would say:

Hello, and how are you doing today?
And what is it like to be you everyday?
The power, the fame, the world at your feet,
The villa in Italy and anything you want,
Is yours for the asking and taking, after all,
You are voted the sexiest man alive.

What is it like, at just 44, to have legions of fans,
Mad screaming fans wherever you go?
To be friends with the most famous and powerful of mortals,
Brad Pitt and Matt Damon, and to not ever have to,
If you didn't want to,
Work another day in your life?

What are you working on?
What are your plans,
For the good of the earth,
For your fellow man?
Certainly you see all the need and destruction,
All the pain and corruption,
All the helpless and hurting,
Who have been given so little,
While you have been given so much, so much!

What are you doing,
Or what will you do,
To make sure the wealth that God gave you is used?
To make sure it wasn't in vain that you had,
Such humor and wit,
Such glamour and style,
Such effortless charisma at your fingertips?

And in reply,
He'll probably turn to me and say,
While he looks me in the eye,

"I support various groups,
I give donations to some,
And I hope through those groups,
Much good works can be done."

"It's nice to be wanted, it's nice to be loved,
It's nice to have fans who all scream for a hug.
My friends are a riot.
We enjoy mutual admiration.
And the villa in Italy is no small consolation."

"But really, it's not what you think it might be.
There are days when even I'm not happy.
There are good days and bad days and days in between,
And no matter how much money you have,
There will always be
monotony."

"No matter how much you have,
There's always the next great big thing.
You quickly adapt and you quickly adjust,
Your standards are raised and then,
What was normal seems substandard at best,
And what was extraordinary is now,
Normal and expected."

"So really, our lives are quite parallel,
We both live in our own personal hells,
Of course my hell is like heaven to you,
But once you get comfy it'll seem like hell too.
We are all finite beings in a mysterious world,
Wanting infinite pleasure and constant perfection,
And great beauty that never tires or fades,
But always evades."

"And thus, despite all the trappings of wealth,
In all the ways that really matter,
We are really more or less the same, you see,
You and me."

Nobody's Perfect

Nobody's perfect.

So why do we try to be?

Some people hide their flaws a lot better than others.
Some people have ostensibly fewer flaws than others.

When I see an ostensibly perfect person,
with perfect teeth and skin;
and a perfect outfit on;
and a perfect resume;
and has perfect social skills;

I try hard to find the flaw in him/her.


Nobody's perfect.

But Hollywood and fairytales would make us believe differently.

Actresses have perfect skin, bodies, and accessories.
Heroines have perfect heroes.
Cinderallas have their perfect princes.

Perfection is a perpetual obsession and the obtainment of which is the human Holy Grail.

Let's abandon that fruitless effort. Scrap that misguided adventure.
Let's not reach for perfection in an impossibly imperfect world.
Let us learn to live contentedly with dusty shelves and dirty dishes.
And yet, sometimes, it is right and good that we try...

Finally, it's happened to me...

Life is marked by a series of firsts.

Baby's first steps. Baby's first words.
Your first crush. Your first kiss. Your first boyfriend.
Your first car, job, apartment...

Well, this weekend I had a great first.
I always wondered when it would happen to me but I never put forth any effort toward making it happened.
Just when I least expected it, it happened.
And it couldn't have happened in a better way.

Michael and I were getting ready to watch a DVD when he just happened to see that the last 6 minutes of the USC v. Notre Dame game was on. The score was so close that USC only had to score one more touchdown to keep their undefeated status as the number one ranking college football team.

I sat down on the couch next to him.
And that's when it happened.

My first.
My first football game.

I knew I was experiencing my baptism into the world of football the second my cheek touched the couch cushion. With 6 minutes left in the game, USC scored an amazing touchdown. And then the unbelievable happened. Like an unstoppable tsunami wave, Notre Dame scored a winning touchdown! And then, with less than two minutes on the clock, a true miracle happened on USC's fourth down. They advanced all the way from like the 35 yard line to somewhere near the 90 yard line before someone got tackled. The clock ran out of time and Notre Dame's fans came cheering onto the field. But wait! The refs reset the clock! They ruled that the clock should have been stopped at the 7 second mark! And with just 7 seconds left to go, USC scored the very last touchdown with only 3 seconds remaining! Go Trojans!

And that, children, is how mommy became a football fan.

Perfect Weather

It's dark and rainy at 4:00 in the afternoon.

I love this weather because it doesn't make you feel like you're missing out on life if you just stay indoors to study all day.



It's the perfect weather for lighting some candles, sipping a mug of steaming hot latte, and bundling in a soft fleece blanket while reading Contracts: Cases and Materials. Ok, that last part doesn't quite fit the ideal. I'll just pretend I'm reading Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.

This guy knows how to play the game...

His shirt says: Now that I'm safe, I'm pro-choice!

The Big "C"

They warned me about it.

Every single person I met in Boston warned me about it.

I laughed it off cockily.
I welcomed it.
I smiled. I sneered.
I spit. (figuratively)
"Bring it on," I said,
"I'm looking forward to it."

And now, without any warning,
it's heeeeeeerrrrreeeee...

The Big "C."

"C" as in COLD.
"C" as in cheek-chilling, cuspid-chattering, COLD.
"C" as in, I-have-never-worn-this-much-clothing-in-all-my-years-of-living-in-California COLD.

And it's only the first week of October...

One for the little guys everywhere

In a way, I'm kind of happy that Harriet Miers was nominanted to be the next justice.

She stands for the "everyman." The normal. The average.

If she, a graduate of a law school that most people have never heard of, can be nominated for the highest honor in her field, that gives hope to all average Joes everywhere. Just because you're not highly regarded by society's standards, doesn't mean great things can't happen for you.

Miers is a symbol of egalitarianism and democracy in an Andrew Jackson sort of way. Many people balked when good ol' Stonewall was elected since he was the first president NOT come from an elite background.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not saying she's qualified (or she isn't). I just like when there's an anomoly in an elitist world.

This link to Mier's blog is awful, but so funny.

Three Great Things

1. The leaves have started to change color. This picture is from the White Mountains of New Hampshire (not taken by me).


2. I found this shirt and intend to buy it. I know you all want this shirt too, but you can't buy it cause I claimed it first. Ggggosh!


3. I learned to use the VCR so I can record all the L&O I can handle. Twice a week, every week baby. (Jerry Orbach, we miss you!)

Dare to be an Optimist

Well, in response to my post, "Poisen Preference," some of my optimist friends have weighed in.

Melissa says:
maybe pessimism poisons the future as much as it forestalls possible disappointment. personally, as an optimist, if you always think things will look up, you'll always feel happy and hopeful. and when things are down, that's ok, cause you are sure the situation will improve. after all, this too shall pass.

Eddie says:
I think it's better to be an optimist. At least that way you're going to pick yourself up when you fall, instead of staying down and waiting to be picked up.

And in response to that, I say:
Hmm..you're all optimists and you tell me it works for you. I'm a pessimist and it doesn't quite work for me. Ok, I'm convinced. I'm going to be an optimist from now on. I'm going to quit cold-turkey.

No more gloom and doom.

Today is going to be great! Tonight is going to be great! Tomorrow will be great!

Great things are going to happen to me!
I'm beautiful and smart and people like me!

Yeah baby, I feel the magic working already! Watch out world, make room for me and my new robust sense of optimism, yeah! (image: Me doing a double-fist pump)

Everytime I start to feel bad, I'm just going to repeat this mantra:
Everything's going to be great!

Stay tuned, dear readers, to find out what havoc these new rose-tinted spectacles shall wreak on my week...

Sorry! No! (Bad optimist! Bad optimist!) What I meant to say is:
Stay tuned and witness how great this new point of view will be for me throughout the week!