From around the interwebs

A description of women at a speeding dating event by a blogger: 

The other girls looked like the Asian female students you saw in your high school hallway carrying a stack of books walking with their head down with glasses; but now that they’ve somewhat grown into their boyish figures and have a career, they’ve built a confidence that is too good for what they can offer. 

  Why the semicolon? Also, I'd rather be one of the confident career women than someone hoping for a tip from them. Justsayin. I can't tell if she's describing arrogance or if it's just a bunch of sour grapes from the local bartender/actress wannabe.

XXX is an undergraduate Biology/Pre-Med student and Biology Teaching Assistant attending the University of La Verne. XXX also works for AHMC Health Foundation, a non-profit organization that seeks to improve the health and wellness of those underserved. There is not just one word to describe XXX. Barely turning 21, she has accomplished much more than many of those at her age. XXX has been involved in Speech and Debate for seven years, using her unique sense of humor to advocate and inspire others to be better on a local and national scale.

My friend wants to give this girl the benefit of doubt and is assuming that her bio consists of a copy/paste job of the topic sentence of every paragraph of her personal essay. I want to believe that too, but somehow, I don't think that's what happened here. It seems a bit boastful to say that "she has accomplished much more than many of those at her age" when all she's done is go to a no-name school in the middle of nowhere while volunteering at a nonprofit. Is her myopic gaze limited to her own reflection? Surely every single student at a reputable university has accomplished more than this lady. I am not even going to touch the phrase "There is not just one word to describe XXX." Few people can be described by one word.

Following college, XXX graduated from Southwestern Law School's prestigious 2-year accelerated SCALE J.D. Honors program in May 2012. 

I guess prestige is relative? Either that or she doesn't know what prestigious means.

Of Loss

Nothing stalls my heart more than a text message from family that says, "I heard your dad is in the hospital. Is everything okay?" The whole world felt melt-y. I know that's not a word, but everything, the seat that I was in, the road that I was on, the reality that I thought I knew rippled and shook. I just saw him two days ago. What could have possibly happened? I called my mom. His primary care physician recommended some tests after he complained of pain in his shoulder and there was some abnormalities with his heartbeat. He is essentially fine.

Two weeks ago, my uncle-in-law passed. I was there in those final moments when he stopped breathing. My aunt lifted up his blanket and his body was so frail from fighting the cancer. I thought I would be frightened, but I wasn't. I barely recognized his face.

We prayed, all the loved ones in that room. The respirator was removed. My aunt hesitated in calling hospice, worried that his body would be removed from the home before she was ready. She was dry eyed and calm and it wasn't until I hugged her and wouldn't let go that I could feel her ragged sobs. My dad didn't know what to do with it, tried to offer some words of comfort, but I knew better. Sometimes the grief just has to wash over you, before you can start healing.

So today, I feared the worst, but I thought back to our last interaction. The last time I saw him, I hugged him goodbye as I usually do, and am grateful for these little rote, built-in niceties, because he'll always know how much I love him every time we part. 

safe topics

Sometimes I itch to write, but the expression stalls. Sometimes I want to commit something to the screen, to hit publish, to record, to practice. I want to eventually be a writer. This day job, I like it, I might even love it, but old dreams aren't easily abandoned.

As I get older, it's harder. It's not easy to pump out snark-filled criticism like on my old xanga, so I withdraw inside myself, searching for a safe topic, something uncontroversial, something that won't shed too much insight on my inner life. I don't want to be mocked. I don't want to be someone's "Can you believe this girl wrote this?" link, but I'm starting to feel like it's okay. It's okay to write a bunch of shitty things, because maybe one day, you'll write something good, something worth of writing, but you can't ever write that second thing if you never write at all. 

That Time I Threw a Birthday Party Two Months Later

Over Hello Kitty brunch, I agreed to throw a birthday party two months after my actual birthday. I made my guests bring the food, make decorations, and serve each other. Thanks Josh for being such a gracious host. 

I made cupcakes using yogurt as a substitute for oil and eggs, per Pinterest board suggestions. This was a total mistake, as the cupcakes were disgusting, and the four people who ate them described them as "like cornbread" and "the best part was the frosting."

Good thing everyone else brought food and Anne bought me a book on how to make macarons, which is probably helpful for the next party in which I will try to make the macarons healthy, and probably inedible. 


I then held a snowflake making a contest and everyone failed except for Cathy, because no one read the link that I posted. (No one reads after the first couple of lines where it says "see more." Next year, the theme of my party will be, "Wear fucking red, people."- Raymond) 

When it was time to bring out the cake, I had no candles except a 1 and a 5 from a birthday long past. My friends collaboratively Macgyver'ed the correct numbers out of the 1 and 5. We held the pieces together with frosting, because what I thought was glitter glue from Kevin's craft box was just glitter paint. At this point, they asked if I had a lighter and of course, I did not. We burned some chopsticks ("I have enough wood to last the rest of the night."- Shawn, Whole group: that's what he said.) and lit my candles. 

At this point, I had no more clean plates and we served the cake in cups. Finally, cup cakes that people will actually eat.

NYE

This was taken at a downtown loft party where we rang in the new year to old YouTube video of previous new year celebrations. Best part was hearing all of downtown counting down from 10. 

Happy holidays

I start and re-start posts and everything sounds so banal to me that I end up hitting delete.

Yesterday, my friends gave me Christmas cards that made me laugh so hard that I cried. I was at Souplantation with mascara streaming down my face. I took out a stack of blank cards today and started writing cards. It felt a little bit like sitting with a stack of yearbooks in high school and reflecting on the past year. 

Higher education ruined me. I was always studying around this time. By the time finals were over, it was mid-December and too late for me to get into the holiday spirit, so I just decided to forgo the hullabaloo and toss a couple of gift cards into my purse. 

I'm trying to get better. I'm trying to revive the holiday cheer, because those cards meant something to me. Little tokens of appreciation, little bits of holiday cheer meant something. I'm not going to overthink it anymore. I will start enjoying the holiday season again, especially since I'm not going to be preoccupied with finals anymore, and no one ever sets a trial for Christmas. (knock on wood)

Ending with some gratuitous pictures. 

finally going out

End of trial feels like end of finals. Reprieve, for now.