2010 reflections

Although the year is not technically over, I always feel that the winter holiday season is kind of that limbo week of indigestion that marks the end of one year and the beginning of another. Who really does anything between Dec 22 and Jan 3 besides seeing family/friends, eating their weight in pork sausage, and complaining about how everyone forgets their birthday? Or is that just me?

Sometimes I can't believe that I've actually kept myself alive for a whole year. When did I become capable of this?? Especially when I come home and immediately revert back into my awkward and slightly unkempt high school self.

So I'm coming up on my first full year of being in the "real world," with my real apartment and real job and real cooking dilemmas that I have to solve before certain real significant others pop over for supper. It's been a good year. I really mean it, which is kind of a new feeling for me, since I generally err on the side of pessimism. Also because I usually get myself into unfortunate situations that cast a blight on the whole year, like that time where I decided to go to grad school. (My therapist says I'm making great strides, though. And by "therapist," I mean "the wine bottles that have claimed the 'juice' section in my fridge." What can I say? I'm a boozy lush, with my half-inch of wine and "Enchanted" on TV.)

Here's my 2010 Year in Review. However, I'm too lazy to actually fact-check any of these things, so the dates and facts are approximate at best and subject to wildly irresponsible conjecture.

January
New year, new job, new apartment. My brother texts me a picture of my NU diploma, which triggers a rage flashback. Neighbors report being terrorized by woman in a puffy brown coat, waving her arms and screaming about baby shark bunnies and Powerpoint.

February
Something about a one-year anniversary with some guy. Blah blah, I love him, blah blah. Whatever.

March
My cousins visit Chicago!! The Midwest is in the grip of a negative 15-degree spring heatwave complete with freezing rain and ice. We eat deep dish pizza at Gino's East; discover that Madison's air mattress is the same size as my living room; witness a bizarre fantasy marine animal/faerie creature show at the Shedd. In-between all of this excitement, Adam manages to get pinkeye from a CTA railing.

April
Tyler gets a haircut. I cease to recognize him.

May
Back in VA for Colette's wedding! Brief attempt to help make bouquets (mostly just watch Brittany work her floral magic). Tyler is exiled to a hotel lobby for a couple hours while we get ready, and is a real good sport about it. Colette looks like a movie star, Jae is so handsome, food is delicious, weather is pitch-perfect. Just a really great day.

June
Medill's graduation ceremony. Monica stays with me and doesn't complain once about lack of air conditioning in my apartment. I successfully bribe Tyler to attend several local craft fairs with me, but was unable to get him to make any purchases for me. (Why WOULDN'T you spend $500 for a photo of dangerous weather phenomena?? I don't understand!)

July

Taste of Chicago with the Blues. 4th of July at Navy Pier with Tyler. Dinner and fireworks with my cousin Jimmy and his co-workers during their training week Chicago trip! I think there was a wedding or two thrown in there. Continuing to melt in my apartment.

August
Elleen passes through Chicago on her road trip to San Fran! We do Ann Sather, we Bean it up, we take in a Mass. I <3 herrrrr.

September

Heather visits Chicago with her man and is immediately able to correctly identify more Chicago buildings than me. Kim stops by on her road trip to San Francisco. I have a delicious week with my mom in Virginia.

October

Finally starting to make friends in Evanston! Definitely nice to have more female friends nearby. I also take art classes in the ballroom of a renovated Victorian-era mansion. My brother turns 16 and I panic, just a little, b/c he's officially entered that age of dating, driving and "driving." Oh. My. Goodness.

November

HARRY POTTER 7 NAVY PIER IMAX. Matching Gryffindor scarves? Yes, please! We do Thanksgiving in Danville. I make a peanut butter pie and get really competitive about my banana bread.

December

Oscar visits Chicago! We take him to see the Improv Olympics with another fellow W&Mer. Tyler and I do the Walnut Room and take in the Nutcracker with the Blue/Bootcheck clan. I immediately abandon him afterwards to go home to my East Coast loves. I have tons of fun at (and got lost coming home from) Robby's 8th Annual Christmas Bash.

I have 6 more days here and so many people yet to see in Virginia, and I already know that I'm going to miss it and everyone here so, so much. I truly believe that I know the best people in the world. Also b/c I have zero tolerance for stupid people, mean people and ugly people, so you've got to be intelligent, kind and beautiful if you want to stick around.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you and yours!

highly sensitive information

So recently, I was reading the December issue of Marie Claire before I went to bed when I came across this fascinating article: Are You Too Sensitive? I took the accompanying quiz, which asks you to answer True or False to a series of questions. The more Trues, the more likely that you are what the article's expert calls a "Highly Sensitive Personality," or HSP for short.

I answered True for 21 of the questions.

I don't know, maybe some of you out there are nodding your heads and going, "We could've told you that without some stupid quiz" but honestly, I was a little bit surprised. I thought I had my various neuroses pretty well under control! But in thinking about it more, I guess I do exhibit a number of the HSP signs, and some of it actually does explain my rather extensive collection of fears. Some examples:

- I get really tense if people around me are angry or upset or talking loudly. Political shows on TV and the radio are the worst, because I usually don't even know why they're so angry.

- I avoid eating with people I don't know very well at all costs. Part of it is b/c I eat really slowly and I don't want to be judged, but the other part is having to make small talk.

- The three seconds before I get to my desk are always nerve-wracking, b/c I have to ready myself to say good morning to my new cubicle neighbor. Then, right before I leave, I fret about having to say have a nice evening. I don't know why. He moved in like a month ago. You'd think I'd be better about it by now.

And I don't know if this really has anything to do with HSP, but, as you probably know, I am Queen Grudgeholder of All the Land. Not with people I like; I forgive my friends easily. But I am definitely one of those people who you don't want as an ex with a score to settle (ex-girlfriend, ex-friend, ex-girlfriend's friend). I am an angsty writer, after all, which means I basically have no scruples when it comes to pulling real-life events into my writing (read: ranting online).

I was thinking about this when Facebook so kindly revealed that an ex-boyfriend was now in a relationship with a girl he'd long denied being in a relationship with. (Ugh, prepositions. Hate them. Can't figure out right now how to end that sentence properly. But I digress.) Our whole dating nonsense was over a few years ago anyhow, so normally this wouldn't be a big deal except I'd suspected them of having a thing going on while he and I were still dating. But I didn't want to be the nagging girlfriend, and b/c I'm generally pretty lenient/borderline doormat with the people I love, I let it slide.

Of course, he denied it. A few months after our break-up, my intuition told me that they were seeing each other. He denied it. She denied it. But that suspicion persisted, esp when he spent holidays at her house, esp since she basically moved in with him, esp when there were photo albums of their coupliness, etc. For years, they both straight-up denied it everyone, even to his roommate. He told our mutual friends he didn't like her at all; he said he didn't find her attractive; he even called me paranoid for asking him about it. But most of all, he refused to apologize.

WELL.They've apparently made it Facebook official, so who's paranoid now?! Vindication is sweet. I love being right.

Here's the thing: it's not like I spend all my time being vengeful or whatever; it just pops up when some reminder of it re-surfaces. And trust me, I don't take any pleasure in holding grudges b/c it makes me feel incredibly guilty that I'm not able to forgive someone. Yeah, sure, I joke about it, but it really is something that I work on. This ex-boyfriend thing is just the most current example; there are a couple more, some from much farther back, some that only concern me indirectly (such someone hurting a close friend). But if I feel that someone has wronged me/someone I care about, it's hard for me to really and truly "get over it" until that person acknowledges what they've done.

Is this me being too sensitive? Or is this something that everyone goes through? Also, you think HSP is real, or do you think it's just a bunch of psychology-jargon to legitimize emotionally sensitive or, yes, possibly paranoid people?

secret ingredients

I don't know what it is, exactly, but communal ramen always tastes better than any other kind of ramen, perhaps better than any other kind of noodle dish.

Maybe it's because ramen was only an occasional food when I was growing up. We'd have to be sick, or having a bad day or something, and my mom would let my dad make ramen for us as a special treat. And my dad is a man who adores ramen, so he'd always go all out. Two packages of normal noodles, one package of rice noodles, three different kinds of seasoning packets, all mixed together and simmering in one big pot. He had some sort of secret sense for cooking it at exactly the right heat level and exactly the length of time for each noodle to be translucent and chewy in the way that Asian noodles should be. (Very "Q"...I don't know the pinyin for it, but it sounds like saying the letter "Q." My mom almost always says it in multiples of three: "Q, Q, Q!") Anyway, it was awesome.

Then I went off to college, spent two years puttering around and being weird and emo and angsty before really finding a solid group of friends. One of my favorite college memories was midnight ramen nights my junior year in the C-house. Someone would be making one package of ramen, and gradually more and more would be added in as people walked by and suddenly felt hungry, too. I remember Adam looking flabbergasted (but amused) when he found himself, Strega Nona-like, cooking two separate pots filled to almost overflowing with ramen. Then Connie was holding a carton of eggs and counting off to make sure everyone would get one, and Sunny was doing her sideways-clicky-crab dance across the kitchen hallway and then pretending it never happened. Once the noodles were done, it was doled out as equally as possible into various bowls, mugs and those ugly plastic dinner plates stolen from the Caf. Someone was always eating straight from the pot, hobo-style. Soy sauce and Sriracha was passed around. No one really ever got enough to be full, but it didn't really matter and everyone left the table satisfied anyway. There was a lot of laughing and good-natured teasing and wearing of pajamas. It was fun.

Today, I often make ramen when I'm homesick (or just plain lazy), but no matter what I do, it never tastes as good as it does at home or at W&M. I don't know if it's b/c I eat from a real bowl now instead of a coffee cup, but there's something about that atmosphere, I think, that makes food taste better and the winter not as cold. I really miss that sometimes.

once upon a december

Leave it up to Chicago to send in a pack of snow flurries on the first day of December. You can say a lot about Chicago (corporations, corruption, corpulence) but you can't say that it doesn't do its best to meet seasonal expectations. That wind felt like a knife this morning! Super glad that I got a ride home with Young Finance Guy in the evening, or I may have had to pull a Bear Grylls and shot something and taken its coat to stay warm. (Sorry, I know that was a bad analogy. It's been a longish, very cold day.)

So I've reached that point in my laundry cycle where I'm running out of underwear but don't have the time to get out to the laundromat. I like to do laundry on Saturday mornings, but, for the last few months, that's when I have my art class. It's really thrown me off my schedule. This makes me really grumpy and slightly unhygienic. Sometimes I'll do laundry on Saturday afternoons if I'm not wiped out by painting, but for the most part I wait a bit longer than I normally would b/c the thought of rushing through the laundry process really stresses me out. I'm at the point where you're rummaging through your drawer and trying to decide between: huge, ugly, but strangely comfortable granny panties; wildly work-inappropriate panties, possibly of the lacy and/or thong variety; and panties that are 2 sizes too small. In honor of the holiday season, I'm currently wearing a Grinch-colored and Grinch-heart-sized pair. TMI? Oh yeah, definitely. What can I say? Gotta show that Christmas cheer somehow.

giving thanks

Working from home has got to be one of the greatest unsung perks of the working world. Seriously. I rolled out of bed half an hour later than I normally do, and was able to get right to work 2.5 hours before I normally stumble into the office. (I stumble b/c I'm often hungover. Just kidding. I'm just clumsy.) I love wearing PJs, watching the sky outside my window get light, and looking forward to meeting up with Tyler for lunch. I just don't think I'm really that cut out for a corporate career. I know I've talked to a few of you guys about my career uncertainties, but in case some of you were wondering, I'm not really into working 13 hours just to say I do, and not having anything to really show for it at the end of the day but stress and a superiority complex. It's like wandering around in a J.Crew clone army (not that I don't like J.Crew! I do! But come on, guys, show a little creativity!) and being constantly terrified one of them will want to make banal small talk.

Thankfully my boss is like the greatest ever (he's a Brooks Brothers guy -- super classy), so things could be worse. I think I'd just shoot myself if I had to work for someone dumb/incompetent/takes job too seriously.

To continue on that thought, here are other things I'm thankful for this year:

- Having an amazing family. I feel pretty lucky to have a family that really gets me. For example, my dad recently sent me an article called "Jobs For People Who Don't Like People." Both of our jobs are on there (computer programmer and writer), so you might say that being a bit anti-social is in my genes. He's as good a role model as any that work isn't life and clothes don't make the man. My mom is hands-down the best person I know, inside and out. And my little brother is beyond awesome.

- Cross-country friends. Being in the Midwest by myself is kind of like living in a friendship sieve. It's been great to know that, with some people, how far away we are or how infrequently we talk has zero impact on our friendship or our understanding of each other. And I'm always learning from and leaning on them, even if I haven't seen them in over a year (I'm looking at you, "Julie Andrews" Chung). And now we're making friends in Evanston. So things are good.

- Freelancing. Even if it doesn't technically put money in the bank, it keeps me sane and less frustrated with my career path. It also makes me feel like my journalism degree wasn't a mistake. Plus, it's fun, and makes me feel like I'm keeping up with my HS/college/grad school peers. Not that it's a competition, of course. (Only if I don't like you, or if you've wronged a friend in some way. I'm not above a little petty, pointless, one-sided rivalry.)

- Back in January, I felt like I was holding a bunch of loose threads. My family/friends were all in the East Coast. My Medillians were gone. I was living in my first real apartment that I was responsible for in every way. I had my first real job with real responsibilities and a very real, very long bus commute. Oh, and I couldn't remember the majority of the last 3 months of grad school due to rage blackouts. So January started off on a bit of an amnesiatic note. And without any sort of anchor in Chicago, I probably would've packed it all in, gone back East and moved back in with my parents. I wouldn't've ever become this independent or been able to carve a place out for myself. So this one's for you, Blue.

Ugh, gross. My Grinch-heart can't take all this sap. I need to do something senselessly insensitive, like punt a guinea pig. Or just take a shower, that would work, too, I suppose.

On a side note: is the Grinch a multi-purpose holiday-cheer-zapper, or does he function for Christmas only? What's the Thanksgiving version of the Grinch?

Anyway, I hope everyone has a good Thanksgiving!

mid-november greys

Where has the time gone? Mid-November already?? And my Christmas list nowhere near complete?!?! Part of me is panicking (and cursing the fact that I didn't comb the summer art shows for gift items as closely as I should have), but the other part is saying "Eh. I'm warm right now."

And, yeah, the bottom right half of my face is numb for the 3rd or 4th time in a month. So what? So what if I'm going back to the dentist again in 2 weeks to get a new crown? All that worrying and bothersomeness is in the future. Right now, my apartment is full of the smell of bean-and-beef stew bubbling away on my stove. And once the anesthesia wears off, I can finally taste it properly! It's the weirdest feeling, to be able to taste with only half your tongue.

It's pretty grey and damp outside, but I'm cozy inside with my favorite grey sweater, crocheting a 2nd Gryffindor scarf in anticipation of HP7.1 next Friday. Looking forward to seeing Tyler later. Feeling pretty good right about now.

costumes that shan't be worn

The day after Halloween really should be its own holiday. I'd like to call it "Gawking at Shame-Walkers Day," in honor of the two stunningly classy young ladies that were on the train with me at 6am this morning, openly garbed in the vestiges of last night's costume party. One was dressed as a slutty cat, complete with tail and ears. Her friend was dressed as what might be called a "chubby slut-wench," her Northface fleece flung wide to reveal an amount of cleavage that I can only describe as "incredibly alarming." Let's just say, had I accidentally run into her from the front, I would've gotten a faceful of flesh in a way that is not at all desirable or pleasant. And I thought my striped stockings today were a bold fashion choice! Silly me.

monday lunchtime update

I love lunchtime, b/c it gives me a chance to not think about office supplies and check up on my friends' blogs. For instance, what did Jess do yesterday? I can tell you: she bought shoes. How does she feel about immigration? Keep scrolling; try not to get distracted by the Care Bears' Easter egg hunt and the delicious Taiwanese oyster pancake. I also read reviews for Michael Caine's new book and Paranormal Activity 2.

Basically I care more about everything else right now than writing about office supplies. To give you an idea about what kind of day I'm having, let me tell you what I did on the bus this morning.

I had brought a book to read during my lengthy commute, but the blurb on the front flap required far too much concentration than I was able to muster in my pre-coffee state. I gave up figuring what the book was about, and contented myself with picking off the "Bargain Priced" sticker on the front cover. And then I pretended to sleep for about an hour so people wouldn't talk to me. (Although, now I'm not so sure that I was just pretending. I felt like I was thinking about stuf the whole time and didn't feel any more rested afterwards, but I also don't remember much of it, so...who knows. I vaguely remember having very compelling emotions about making meatballs.)

I had a pleasant weekend though. Since Tyler is up to his neck in covering high school sports, I spent Friday night in my sweatpants with pad thai from Joy Yee's, an inch of red wine, and Pirates of the Caribbean on TV. It felt very grown-up, kind of a single-lady-in-the-city sort of feeling. Except, of course, am not single nor technically live in a city. But still.

Saturday and Sunday were pretty chill, much art-ing (painting class on Saturday; Art Institute with a recently transplanted W&Mer on Sunday) and watching NCIS re-runs. I'm starting on a portrait of my friend Kim in my art class, and discovered that apparently EAC is dominated by two types of people: homeschooled high school girls and curious octogenarians. A very nice elderly man complimented me on my painting technique ("You have a very pretty style"), then asked deceptively probing questions about my new subject. "What does her husband do?" he queried, somewhat wistfully. "Oh, she's not married? What does she do, then? How do you know her? She's absolutely lovely. Just lovely." It was very funny and sweet, one of those things where only men of a certain age can pull off without being creepy. I couldn't very well be like "Stop hitting on the picture, sir!" The man paints abstract flower pots, for goodness sake! Plus he complimented me, and I am a total sucker for compliments.

headphones and weekend update

This probably sounds weird, but I have a complete inability to wear headphones and eat at the same time. I don't know what it is, but something about having headphones in/covering my ears while I'm chewing is incredibly uncomfortable. Which means me trying to transcribe the interview I did this past weekend will just have to wait (and ugh, how I hate transcribing). This whole weird headphone-thing also makes lunchtimes at my desk a very quiet affair, not only b/c I sit in the nuclear wasteland section of the office building, but b/c I can't play meal-time tunes. But anyway.

Here's a bit of an update on my weekend:
- Moderated at an Asian College Fair event for an appearance by actor James Kyson Lee. I was nervously word-vomiting when we were in the prep room, and he asked, sounding confused, "So, uh...you're a journalist?" No, James. I'm just an idiot.
- Covered a Tibetan celebration of the 3rd anniversary of the Dalai Lama's conferment of the Congressional Gold Medal of Honor, which was fun. A little sleepy girl mistook me for her mother and wouldn't let go of my arm/rubbing her face on me. She was so incredibly cute, I very nearly spontaneously became pregnant.
- Decided to make beef bourguignon as a surprise for Tyler, which apparently takes like 32375 ingredients. Spent about an hour picking everything out at the Jewel, then experienced a bit of a setback when I tried to buy a bottle of red wine (a key ingredient) b/c the cashier thought I was using a fake. I went back and got that bad puppy with my passport, but it was a pretty frustrating event. Never did get to make beef bourguignon, which apparently also takes like 3 hours to make. (Well, the recipe said 3 hours, an 'easy' level recipe; knowing me, it would be more like 4.5 hours plus an emotional breakdown.)

And now, back to the grind...

coffee and potato chips

Well, it's finally happened: I've officially upgraded from a small-size coffee to a medium at Dunkin' Donuts. This is only a problem because I have a life-goal of not being addicted to anything, but this caffeine thing is really tripping me up. Usually I'm pretty good about it, especially given that I'm pretty sensitive to caffeine (half a Coke at dinner will keep me up all night), but this week has been rather ornery. The last time I got this bad with coffee was during 4th quarter Medill hell, of which I only remember bits and pieces.

The main culprit for the coffee cup upgrade is my next-door neighbor. I don't know what he does, but he's come home every night this week at 3 am. Because our building is like, pre-historic, the walls are quite thin and there is very little sound insulation, so I get startled awake when he comes in. And then he usually spends the next hour or so opening/closing drawers, running the water, and treading the floorboards, which must be connected with mine, b/c I can hear the creaking inside my apartment. Very spooky, given my fear of ghosts/demons/burglars/etc. Yesterday morning, he was whistling. Since then he's developed a cold, b/c this morning he blew his nose until about 4 am.

As you know, my commute is about 2 hours and change each way, slightly longer in the afternoons due to traffic. To get to work on time, I normally get up at 5:30 am, leave the house at 6 am. So when it was 4:15 am and I had no hope of falling back asleep, I was like "Eff this in the face, I'll just catch the 5:22 am bus." So I got up, turned on the news, restrained myself from slashing wrists, etc. I decided that, due to the sheer awfulness of the morning, I would treat myself to coffee and a hot sandwich at the Dunkin' Donuts.

I get to Davis St a little after 5 am, really kind of looking forward to burning my mouth on a turkey cheddar bacon flatbread sandwich. That's when I found out that the hot sandwiches at Dunkin' Donuts are delivered frozen and would not be ready to be heated up until at least 6 am.

What. The. Eff. Are you serious??? You're killing me here, DD!!

In a fit of depression, I bought a medium coffee and sat on a bench with the other poor, vagrant souls who board buses at ungodly hours. The early morning 208 bus driver is really cheerful and made jokes about shopping (the route takes it to 3 separate malls). The early morning 272 is super crammed. A woman fell asleep on my left arm, which really tested my boundary issues.

So if you see me today and I snap at you without provocation, know that I've been up since 3 am and was on a bus to work before Dunkin' Donuts was ready to make hot sandwiches. My apologies in advance.

And if, for whatever reason, you foolishly choose to provoke me today...God help you. May God help you.

questions from our readers

Happy 10/10/10 day, everyone! For some reason it feels really satisfying to write that. 10/10/10. It's also the birthday of one of my favorite friends, which makes it just that much better.

Because a writer without an audience is, basically, a sad and lonely diary-keeper, today's post will be dedicated to answering questions from the loyal and awesome readers who keep my self-esteem afloat in the sludgy sea that is journalistic rejection. You have no idea how much the six of you mean to me.

So without further ado, let's begin the inaugural edition of Questions From Our Readers.

Vicky, why do you write so much about stuf that annoy you? Don't you like anything at all?

Why yes, dear Reader, there are many things that I like. I like the fine selection of brunch locales in Chicago. I like the convenience of public transportation. I like frozen yogurt/soft serve in all its incarnations, from Red Mango to Rita's Water Ice. I like wearing pajama pants in the middle of the day, catching up with old friends, and making slow-cook foods like chili and spaghetti sauce. See? There are lots of things that I like.

Okay. But why do you have such disdain for fake international students?

Because they suck.

What?

Sorry. I got a little emotional. Here's the thing: real international kids are, generally, really cool. Several of my favorite people in the whole world are/were international kids. So I can see why some people want to act they are, even though, really, all they did was go to some fancy international boarding school...in Vermont. Here's a sample conversation to show what I mean:

Person: So where are you from?
Me: Virginia. You?
Person: Well, my mom is British and my dad is French. So I'm pretty international.
Me: Wow. That's really cool. Did you grow up in England or in France?
Person: Well, I went to a boarding school in New England.
Me: Oh, gotcha. That must've been hard. Do you ever go to England or France?
Person: Just England sometimes. My mom's from Manchester and my dad's from Louisiana.
Me: Oh, so he came to Louisiana from France?
Person: Well, one of my ancestors did, in like the 1700s.
Me: ...So...what you're saying is, you're half-British and half-American.
Person [getting annoyed]: Didn't you hear anything I said? My dad's from Louisiana.
Me: ...Right. Which is in...the US.
Person [defensively]: Look, Louisiana is basically France.

Call me stupid b/c I didn't have a fancy international boarding school education, but I'm fairly certain that it's been a while since Louisiana was a part of France. It's weird, but I've met an inordinate number of people who have one parent from Louisiana and claim partial French citizenship. It's one of the most maddening and illogical things ever. Maybe it's not considered "cool" or "hip" in the international circles to be part American, but uh, suck it up.

Who do you think should win the next Nobel Peace Prize?

Without a doubt, the team behind Procter and Gamble's Swiffer series. It's completely revolutionized cleaning! They took the need for cleanliness, combined it with human laziness/aversion to cleaning, and built an empire. I want my apartment to be clean, but I'm not about to be hauling around a mop and a bucket. The Swiffer WetJet (a kindly donation from David) minimizes cleaning time and yet maximizes cleanliness. What is not to like? It's genius. GENIUS.

Speaking of cleanliness, why do you clean so much? I mean, you have a 3-step process just to clean your floors: sweeping with normal broom, then Swiffer Sweeper, then Swiffer WetJet. And, if you're feeling particularly germaphobic, you'll go over that with some multi-purpose cleaner. Don't you think that's a bit of an overkill?

Well, you know what they say: cleanliness is next to godliness. This because a dirty home would literally drive me insane and to commit random acts of senseless violence--not very godly, you know. So it's important to be clean. I live in a 100+ year-old building where railroad grime coats the window panes and the dust of pioneers is coughed up from the floorboards with every creaky step. And given that my immediate space has been inhabited by approximately 19454328 anonymous people of unknown lifestyle practices over the years, I don't think it's unreasonable to want to sanitize it much as I can. Basically, the only thing standing between me and a rage blackout is a clean apartment.

Well, there you have it, Readers, the first edition of Questions! If there's anything that you want to know, just leave a comment or send me an email, and I'll try to include it in the next edition.

old men/women

I have a fear of growing old and becoming an androgynously gendered elderly person.

You know what I mean. We've all seen couples who have grown old together, holding hands and wearing similar bulge-y sweatshirts, elastic pants and sneakers. Not that there's anything wrong with that; I aspire to still want to hold hands with my spouse when we're both 85 and crotchety.

The problem lies in the fact that it takes far too long to discern which one is the man and which one is the woman b/c they are (somehow) the same height, have the same short haircut and same vague whiskers on their chins. I feel like such a creepy, staring at their chests to determine who has more boob, and thus, is the woman of the couple.

I shared this fear with Tyler, as I do with all my fears. He responded with great sensitivity and tact.

"Wait. You can't be serious. You really think that people are going to confuse us??" said my 6-foot-tall boyfriend incredulously. "Ever??" And then: "Why are you crazy???"

Okay, fine, so it probably won't ever happen with us, but still, I think it's a valid concern. I don't want to be a man-grandma!

mid-morning musings

A few minutes past 9 AM is not technically mid-morning, I suppose, but since I regularly get up at 5:30 AM, it feels mid-morning. Since I arrived at the office, I've eaten:

1 cup milk tea (the Asian kind)
1 Yoplait Whipped (strawberry mist)
1/2 Taco Bell chicken quesadilla (leftover from last night's late supper after Tyler's softball doubleheader)
1/2 mashed avocado (other half saved for lunch)
1 Oreo (Halloween-themed!!)
3 potato chips (yes, I kept count; don't ask)

I feel slightly disoriented.

more things that bother me

It's been a busy few weeks, but I'm happy to report that I am still fairly sane, mostly healthy and have not been arrested for any crimes. I flew to Virginia the week of Labor Day and just had the best time ever seeing family and friends again. It really made me realize how much I missed the East Coast, and all that comes with it, especially that peculiar mix of sophistication, ambition and utter geekiness. My mom sent me back to Chicago with my luggages crammed with homesickness. It's kind of funny...I've always thought of myself as a traveler, a wanderer. But increasingly, I've come to discover that I have a very strong attachment to important players in my life, not unlike one of those harnesses that overly cautious moms subject their small children to. In this case, it seems like my harness has multiple leashes, each tugging me back to the East Coast.

I know. What a sap. So I've decided to get out of my funk by taking another hard look at the things that bother me. I am, after all, incredibly superficial, petty and spiteful. What better cure for homesickness than indulging in those weaknesses? Here goes:

1. People who, after pouring themselves a cup of coffee, leave just dregs in the morning pot. Um, hello. It is 8:30 in the freakin' morning. You are not the only one who is going to stumble into the copy room to get a cuppa. It will literally take you an additional 10 seconds to dump out the old coffee ground, put in a new filter, rip open a packet of pre-measured coffee, pour into the filter, push "brew" and then walk away. Literally 10 seconds. The machine takes care of everything. You don't actually have to measure anything at all! Why would you leave half a swallow of coffee in the pot and force the next person who comes in to fix it and then wait around for the coffee to brew?? There is a special circle of punishment for you, oh Thou Who Refuseth to Refill Coffee Pot Person.

2. Taylor Swift. I get it. You're very quirky and sensitive, and you excel in writing revenge songs disguised as folk tunes. But for goodness' sake, you are almost 21. Just how many times can you prance around in variations of a prom dress and recycle the themes of "that jerk just up and left me; by the way he's really going to regret it" and "when will that dreamboat with the b-word girlfriend ever like me?" But worst of all, why, WHY are all of your songs so freakin' catchy??? "Today was a Fairytale" is just about the dumbest song I've ever heard, yet I know most of it by heart. So please pick some new themes to sing about b/c I no longer wish to relive the angsty awkwardness of my high school love attempts every time your stupid songs come on the radio.

3. Periwinkle; or, as I like to call it, the bastard child of baby blue, lilac, and death. The blue family doesn't want you. The purple family doesn't want you, either. I can see where periwinkle might be nice as a flower or maybe as a (very) small accent, but there is just no excuse for things like periwinkle dishes, tablecloths or drapes. God help you if your bridezilla chooses to encases you in shiny periwinkle satin. The only person who can pull off this bastard shade is Queen Elizabeth II, but only because she's very old, has lived through World War II, and, um, is the effin' Queen of England, so she can do what she wants. Everyone else: lay off.

golf extravaganza

On Saturday, I stood within 5 feet of Tiger Woods in Kohler, Wisconsin.

We were standing between the 3rd and 4th holes, and he walked right by us on his way to the tee. He wore a dark blue shirt and grey pants, and only stopped his scowling long enough to lift a hand in acknowledgement of two bikini-clad girls screaming at him from a boat on Lake Michigan. I was crinkling my way through a bag of gummie bears (much to the chagrin of the "quiet please" ppl), and Tyler really wanted me to offer one to Tiger, but I was afraid that he'd either bite me (pun!) or his hoard of security ppl would throw me out. It was pretty cool though. He's much taller in real life than I thought he'd be. After he tee'd off, he slammed his club back into his bag (it only went partially in--how embarrassing) and stalked off towards the green.

I've never been to any sort of golf event before, so getting to go to the PGA Tour with Tyler and his dad was pretty exciting. It was super hot and humid, despite the cloud-cover. We were all sweating buckets and I made everyone put on sunscreen so we wouldn't get burnt to a lobster crisp.

Golf is a curious sport. For one thing, most of the bystanders look like wandered out of a prep school. I've never seen so many people wearing khaki shorts in one place! (Disclaimer: I was wearing khaki flood pants, not b/c I am a serious golf fan, but b/c they're the lightest pair of pants that I have.) The problem is that khakis are very unforgiving if you happen to sweat even a little bit. Lots of visibly damp butts walking around. You can tell someone's a really hardcore fan if they're wearing a ball cap, a short-sleeve polo and LONG khaki pants instead of shorts. It's intense, man. Their fandom radiates off of them in the form of intense silence when the PGA "quiet please" staff raise their arms. Woe to any person who might be walking on gravel or padding through the grass when those arms go up! This one lady was scolding her kid when the "quiet" arms went up, and instead of people being like "Well, I guess she's in the middle of child-rearing," it was like "Will that woman shut up already?! JEEZ. The NERVE of some people!" It really was quite amazing.

Anyway, the whole experience of it was pretty fun, but I'm glad it's only in Wisconsin every 5 years or something like that. Not sure if I can handle another one with Tyler, should we have the chance to go next year! It was a long day though, because we headed out around 5:30am, then basically drove straight back down to Danville, and didn't get in until around 1:30 or so this morning. I was fading hard...thank goodness Tyler was better at staying awake than I was, especially since he was driving!

So now I'm chilling out in the Blue living room (incidentally, it is filled with blue furniture), watching Sudden Death Golf with Tyler's dad and sister, Madeline. There is nothing quite like Sudden Death Golf, y'all...

foods i eat when no one's watching

Like most girls, I adore lists of any sort. "10 Tips to a Slimmer You." "10 Jeans Guaranteed to Make Your Butt Look Awesome." "5 Blouses to Boost Your Boobage." Etc. (And now you know what kinds of magazines I read after having a fancy-pants liberal arts education and a Masters degree from Northwestern.)

Today's list is inspired by a CNN article I read a few months back about the gross foods that we eat in secret when we think no one else is around. Because, let's face it--no one wants anyone to be watching when they eat packets of microwaveable Kraft mac 'n' cheese! (Not that I do, of course; that is what we journalists call "an example general audiences will understand, but not something that we do personally, especially not for four years in college.") But oh, how we love those guilty pleasures! Without further ado:

1. Raw cookie dough. Salmonella be damned, I love raw cookie dough for its smooth-yet-grainy texture, how you can kind of feel the sugar grains crack between your teeth. I love taking my time nibbling on the dough and the chocolate chipd and squishing it between my fingers. So I guess I don't eat it around people, not so much that it's a gross food, but that I like to take an embarrassingly long time to eat it.

2. Brussel sprouts. I know it's weird, which is why I don't tend to eat it around people. But I can't help but love brussel sprouts. Get a pan really hot and then melt some butter, throw in some Tony Chachere seasoning, cut the sprouts in half and pan-fry them until they're charred on the outside, flaky and tender on the inside. SO GOOD. Tyler thinks it's gross though, and has not let me forget the one time I made him eat ONE leaf, which he washed down with frantic gulps of water. (Not even the whole sprout! Just one leaf!)

3. Dried squid and fish snacks. Remember how we used to eat them in the Nicholas/Asian households? Those were the days! Remember how Benny bought a package of them and we roasted (okay, HE roasted) them over our stove so they got all hot and crackly? And all the squid and cuttlefish-related snacks that Sunny brought from Taiwan?? Haven't had the opportunity to be eating them these days, but it's something I know I would eat when no one's around. Mmm, savor that Asian goodness!

4. Rainbow frosting from the can. You know, the vanilla frosting that's got all the yummy roundish rainbow-colored candies inside? This is not to be confused with the kind that's got the flat sprinkles--the rainbow candies are like 12485231 better tasting and better textured than the sprinkles! I could just eat spoonfuls of this stuf, relishing every rainbow candy. So it's basically like eating butter and sugar and food coloring for a couple of hours. So gross, so delicious.

5. Ramen. Every bowl of Shin Ramyun takes me back to the good ol' Nicholas 107 days. Also, my mom used to only let us eat ramen on special days, like snow days, or if we had a bad day, so it's kind of become like my ultimate comfort food. Being alone out in the Midwest, I have had my share of nostalgia and homesickness, which means I turn to ramen rather a lot. I've gotten to the point where I've started to be all chef-y with my ramen. Like I'll mix different seasonings and sauces together or cook it with different kinds of stock (if you make it with chicken broth, it's basically healthy, right? Just like chicken noodle soup!). I also try varying combinations of what I call "ramen accessories": eggs, tempura, tofu, frozen corn, sausage. It's almost become like real cooking for me, which is kind of sick, if you think about it.

Some of you might be thinking "My gosh, Vicky, I never knew you liked rainbow icing that much," or "I never knew you were a ramen connoisseur," to which I reply "OF COURSE NOT, that's why they are SECRET FOODS that I eat when no one's watching!" These are foods that must be eaten with a certain lack of grace that just won't do with company around.

So now that you know my guilty foods, what are yours??

conversations with my mother

Sometimes talking with my mom is like talking with a very demanding phrase-generator machine on crack. Don't get me wrong; I love love love her. But sometimes I get kind of light-headed after conversations because I'm all out of breath trying to keep up with her.

For example, on Saturday I called her while I was doing laundry and we started talking about plane tickets and when I should try to schedule my flight home for Christmas. This is a snippet of what ensued.

Mom: Remember to let me know when you'll be flying in because you might fly in late at night because sometimes you don't have a choice you know and we'll pick you up at the airport if you're not with Tyler because I don't want you to to take a taxi if you are not with Tyler and then when you get in Daddy and I are going to take you to Tachibana because I know you like that and--
Me: Uh, okay, yeah, I'll let you know about the--
Mom: I want to order you some pork jerky, do you want some? Do you like that? Do you need yellow noodles?
Me: Uh--
Mom: OH!!!! VEEKY!!!!!!! Let me ask you! What is the name of that store? It begins with 'A.'
Me: Um...
Mom: You have a jacket from there.
Me: Oh, yeah, okay. Uhhh. [racking brain trying to think of jackets I've gotten] I really don't know...what does the jacket look like?
Mom: I don't know.
Me: What?
Mom: Blue. It's blue. It's a blue jacket.
Me: I don't have a blue jacket.
Mom: I know. I know.
Me: What?
Mom: It's in your closet. I'll just check.
Me: What?? What jacket??
Mom: I know. Okay. So this store. A-something. Aaaaaaa. Blue jacket. Aaaaaaa.

Apparently she also bought me a light sweater in Taiwan, and it's blueish yellowish greenish. It's like her brain is going so fast, she has no time to process any details before she's onto the thing 8 or 9 steps ahead. Would not at all be surprised if the sweater was actually, like, pink.

I can't wait to do the same thing to my kids in 25 years or so.

things that bother me

After a bit of a blog hiatus, today's post will be about Things That Bother Me.

1. "Convenience" fees when you buy tickets online. If it was so "convenient," why does it add so much to the tab that I could purchase at least one more ticket, or at least a dinner for two at a nice restaurant? It is most inconvenient! I don't understand.

2. People who light up cigarettes inside the bus shelter. Bus shelters are typically enclosed spaces, right, so when you smoke inside the bus shelter, it's like smoking in a very small room with a door propped open. So basically, instead of stepping outside for a smoke like a normal, courteous person, you're forcing all the other occupants of the small room to either cough through your cancer cloud or move to stand outside themselves. That is just rude! Especially when the other occupants are old grannies with canes or bags of groceries.

3. Couples that are inexplicably icky. You know what I mean: two people who are relatively attractive, fairly intelligent, reasonably sociable...but somehow make you feel so uncomfortable, you can't bear to sit next to them in a class or share a meal with them. It's nothing overt. It's not like they're groping at each other or passive/aggressive fighting all the time. But it's like something about their interactions or the way they look at each other that is just like "Ugh, I am in the presence of something that isn't quite right." Gross.

4. Overripe fruit when you're not expecting it to be. (I'm looking at you, banana-that-I-just-threw-out.) There is nothing more disgusting than peeling a banana that's greenish on the outside but is somehow all soft and mushy on the inside. Ugh. Just thinking about overripe bananas makes me want to gag.

5. People my age who have small children but don't have a firm grasp on the proper use homonyms, such as here/hear. Really? You're responsible for another human life but you can't pick out the right you're/your to use in a sentence?? Yes, I am judging your ability to teach your child the basics of the English language if you still can't tell which there/their/they're to use at age 24.

I possess a lot of spite. In case you couldn't tell.

happy 4th of july weekend!

It's one of those days where I just feel really content and just...happy.

Since today was a short workday, my boss let me work from home so I wouldn't have to spent 4+ hours commuting for 5 hours of work. I woke up at my usual 5:30am, so I got right to work at 6am. I put on MTV and listened to music videos as I parsed through some notes, wrote a story, returned some emails, scheduled an interview for next week. I had parked Trey (my work laptop) on my dining room table (okay, so it's more like a small kitchen table, whatever), which is right next to the window, and just really enjoyed the weather, which was just absolutely perfect: sunny, 80 degrees, tons of cool breezes.

Also, the maintenance ppl weren't running whatever machine that is under the building that generates suffocating amounts of heat to make my apartment feel like a steam bath, so my apartment really did feel cool and comfortable. So I guess you can say that I feel really happy and content today because I hate my apartment less than usual. I want to say that I completely love it today, except I still haven't gotten my July issues of Marie Claire and InStyle. Even though I've complained to the receptionist twice about the mail system (unfortunately, yes, this is the receptionist that I suspect is reading my subscriptions), nothing has been done, which makes me incredibly annoyed.

But nevermind, can't let that ruin the perfect mood of today. After work, I went to the library and then met up with Tyler for lunch. Then I came back to my apartment and changed into my super comfortable cover-up that I got on sale from a recent Gap trip with my friend Monica. Turned on the Food Network and started reading Shadow of the Hegemon, which I've read before so now it's just like catching up with an old friend. Ate a yogurt. Super chill afternoon.

Mmm, the breezes are carrying in the yummy cooking smells from someone's grill! Oh, it definitely feels like summer now!

Hope everyone is having a good 4th of July weekend!

fear #7463: being fat at my 10-year HS reunion

After randomly checking out pictures of people I went to HS with (thank you, Facebook, for turning me into even more of a creepy stalker than I was before), I developed this small but persistent fear that I will be fat and/or horrendous-looking at Chantilly's 10-year HS reunion. Strangely enough, I'm not that concerned about being out-careered (being a journalism grad, I've basically already resigned myself to this fate) or out-married (am not above bribing a man to marry me prior to said event). Apparently I'm really that superficial.

But you know exactly what I mean about looking at current pictures of people that you went to high school with--and don't act like you don't judge them, too! You look at them and think "What happened?!": the popular athletes who gained 30 pounds and are cautionary tales for the dangers of fraternity douchedom. Or the Mean Girls who, 6 years out of high school, have turned into walking orange billboards for the dangers of tanning booths. Or the creepy emo guys who have somehow spawned offspring that look just like them (they swear the eyeliner scrawled around the eyes of their children is natural). Or all the ladies who seem to be jockeying for a stint on "America's Most Desperate Cougars Real World Cancun (Theme: I'm Pretty Sure I Don't Have an STD)."

Sometimes it feels like sweet, sweet redemption. ("Ah, so you wouldn't even talk to me in high school? WELL, NOW YOU ARE FAT.") Other times, you get all cold and prickly and think, "Oh no, is that what I look like to them?? Flabby and...old???" It's no use pretending you have even a semblance to the body you had in high school, where you ate delicious and healthful meals prepared by a domestic figure and ran several miles a week courtesy of gym class and/or sports. Today, I basically subsist on couscous, chicken in various forms, and whatever greasy carry-out haven that Tyler and I treat ourselves to on the weekends. And the exercise I get is mostly walking to/from the bus station and to/from my cubicle to the bathroom. It's not a lot.

I unleashed these fears onto Tyler, who is infinitely patient and seems completely unperturbed by the thought of looking like a monster in 4 years. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: What if I'm fat at my 10-year reunion?? BOO HOO WAIL GRIPE, etc.
Tyler: [after some thought] I know! I have the perfect solution: be pregnant.
Me: I'm sorry, what was that?
Tyler: Be pregnant. That way if anyone else like "Gross, that Vicky got FAT," you can turn around and be like "Excuse me...[points to belly] I'm pregnant." And then they can't say anything bad at all. Because you're pregnant!
Me: ...I'm not getting pregnant just so I will avoid being called fat. Besides, the timing of that would require way too much planning.
Tyler: Oh. Don't worry. It'll happen. Trust me.
Me: ...What????

I'm not sure if that idea is ingenius or downright disturbing. But still. Probably wouldn't hurt to waddle a few laps around the ol' office...

sorry, you're a douchebag

So I get that you defriended me because you broke my friend's heart. That's fine. I get that.

You systematically went through your friend list and clicked away all the people that you had had in common. All of her family members and their significant others and friends who were more hers than yours. Basically anyone who would have cause to wish damage upon your cowardly, slimy person--probably wise, because I'm willing to bet there are many more people who like her than who like you. All bias aside, she is like 1000 times more awesome than you anyway. But it's like you thought that if you'd just removed all the people that you met through her, maybe no one will notice you ever existed and that you were a rotten, sleazy scoundrel with balls so small a mouse would be hard-pressed to find your manhood.

Honestly, I'm sorry that you're such a douchebag. Because I actually kind of liked you. You were funny and seemed grounded. I thought we'd be better friends as time goes on. Guess not, b/c you turned out to be a Class A Douche Canyon. I hope you get that, even though you'd like to pretend that we never met, I will never, ever forget what you did. If there is any justice in the world, you will be unemployed, live in a roach-infested apartment and date whore-y cheaters for the rest of your life. As an added measure, you will also develop a severe allergy to all of your favorite things. And kittens will hate you.

trivial observation

Despite an intense fear of salmonella, I willfully ignore all dietary precautions to consume obscene quantities of raw chocolate chip cookie dough. I like it because it eats like ice cream that doesn't melt. And if you know a thing or two about me, it's that ice cream cones carry a certain precariousness because of how slow I eat. Super yummy.

But what I do not like is the Spicy Chicken Nuggets from Wendy's. Yes, it is spicy. And I guess it's technically chicken. But what they don't tell you is that it will burn away your taste buds in a burst of processed fire, rendering you unable to speak or swallow. Your ears will pop from shock and you will then just sit there, blinking rapidly and sniffling as your tummy does a 180 degree back flip as it tries to figure out if it can, indeed, digest chemically spiced plastic. Which is terrific, especially if you're in the middle of a long road trip.

wish i were a little bit taller / wish i were a baller

Yesterday, I tried to capitalize on my recent weight gain as an opportunity to give blood. Being just about 5'1 has its disadvantages: the nurse wouldn't believe that I weighed enough to be a blood donor.

"But I do," I insisted, only lying a teeny tiny bit.

"Sorry," she said, eyeing my driver's license suspiciously. They should put this woman in charge of airport security, b/c she can sniff out the slightest untruthfulness like a shark.

"Nice try, girl!" shouted another nurse from across the room, just to further my shame. This girl is a blood donor wannabe! "Thanks for trying!"

What like, this was a game or something? I just want to give blood, not win a prize! I bet she would've believed me if I were a little bit taller. (And a little bit more baller.)

I think that's a belief that many short people hold close to heart: that things might be a little bit different if only we were taller.

This NYT story, Short? No Worries: Just Ask This Texan, talks about the myths of being short and discredits them. For instance, she says that short people are just as socially competent/intelligent as their peers. (So the only thing that explains all the awkward boys is ASC is that...they're Asian? Just kidding. Mostly.) She also says that short people are just as able to run countries. (Although the examples she gave are Napoleon, Hitler, Mussolini and Stalin...stellar rulers, all of them, yes.) Which is cool, you know, knowing that I can be smart and also commit mass genocide if I ever ruled a country.

She then goes on to talk about some of the advantages of being short, which is where she totally lost me. Just how is asking for a booster chair in a theater a plus? And where are these kindly plane passengers who help put her luggage in the overhead bin? I live in constant dread of the overhead bin! I always try to use a bag that can be stuffed under the seat so I wouldn't have face uncertain death as I try to wrangle my luggage over my head.

So thanks for trying to make being short into a cool thing, but sorry if I'm not convinced. I'm too busy trying to find a booster seat so I can read this screen without straining my neck.

chinese + english = chinglish

According to this NYT article, Shanghai is making an effort to eliminate "Chinglish" from its signage. The article includes a helpful slideshow that demonstrates the dangers of incorrect signage...but also examples of bewildering translations, such as "Jew's ear juice." No, the Chinese are not running around lopping off the ears of Jewish people. Just an inexplicably bad translation. Hei mu er (what they're referring to here as "Jew's ear") is a type of herb, I think. The literal translation is "black wood ear"...I have no idea what it is in English, b/c I don't think it's used much in cooking in the US, if at all.

So there are differing feelings about Chinglish. Foreigners/tourists tend to find it very perplexing and funny. Some Chinese people do too, but there are also feelings of humiliation. I think it is a lot to expect another country to put up signs in perfect English--we generally don't have signs up in any other languages, except for the odd Spanish here and there. (My office building has signs in Polish, which is interesting. I can't tell you if they're correct or not, but there they are.)

While I understand Shanghai's effort to eradicate their mistranslated signs, I do think that there is unique culture here. It does give a glimpse as to how the Chinese language/culture works. And also, they're trying! I have a huge soft spot for people who at least try to take on another language. My Chinese is kind of getting iffy, so I speak a form of Chinglish that is more mangled on the Chinese side than I'd like, but I try really, really hard!

And the lost-in-translation thing isn't just in other countries--the US certainly has its share of gaffes when it comes to other languages. I'm willing to bet that there are thousands of Americans walking around in the US with "Chinese" characters tattooed on their bodies and no clear idea if it is actually a real Chinese character or not. Or T-shirts with other languages printed on it...yeah, it's cool to have Swahili on your shirt if no one else around you can read it, but do you really know what it says? A girl in my high school class had a lovely shirt that had "Self-Automated Car Parking" written on it in Chinese. And Six Flags in VA has an Asian-themed restaurant where they stenciled Chinese characters on the wall...except most were sideways, upside-down, flipped in reverse, or just plain wrong. Maybe you can call that ignorant, but it's also kind of funny, kind of human. They get points for trying right?

I guess what I'm trying to say is, mistranslation is something that everyone does, and people shouldn't be belittled for it when it does. Literal meaning might lost through translation, but I think a lot of cultural understanding can be found, too. Which is why I think my relatives can cut me some slack when I make a mess of their language...I'm trying, I really am!

ridiculous row

I was trying to get to sleep around 1am this morning when a man and a woman got into a loud, obnoxious fight outside my building. I didn't meant to eavesdrop, but they argued so loudly and for so long, I couldn't help but overhear the whole thing. I even got up and peeked out at them from between the blinds in case they got into a physical fight and I needed to call the police. The man seemed to be a middle-aged, thin black man in a dark jacket with the hood up. The woman looked to be younger, in-between normal-sized and plump. She was pale and wore her hair in a short bob, had greenish pants and was swinging around a plastic bag filled with something round. She kept running after him as he paced up and down the block (and also around and around a minivan parked across the street), all the time screaming loud enough that I'm pretty sure the entire 1300 block of Chicago Ave heard their conversation, which went something like this:

Man: Get away from me, you hooker! That was the last time I'm gonna to be tricked by an underage woman!
Woman: Baby, please, listen to me! I didn't mean to lie, I'm not a liar!
Man: I don't want nothing to do with you, you red-haired pixie! I am going home to my family and I don't care what the fuck happens to you!
Woman: What about all that stuff you said about loving me?!
Man: What stuff? I don't even know you! You lied to me! Stay away from me!
Woman: But I have no place to go tonight, please don't leave me here! I am begging you, please! Take me with you!
Man: Hell no! I am going home! To my family! I want nothing to do with you!
Woman [frantic]: Don't leave me! Please, don't leave me here!
Man: I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!
Woman: Where am I going to go? I have nowhere to go!
Man [emphatically]: You are a hooker, and I'm not going to jail again.

I cannot even make this stuff up.

todos somos illegales

I went to the May Day Immigration Rally downtown today. But b/c I am a journalistic fail, I forgot to bring my camera, so unfortunately I have no pictures to show for it. The energy was really fantastic, and I don't think I've ever seen so many American flags before in one place--fluttering on sticks, painted on banners, worns as capes. One guy pushed around a small ice cream cart and did brisk business selling popsicles and ice cream to the bystanders. Towards the end, young girls came on and called out for immigration reform. They were brought to the U.S. as small children, and all spoke perfect, educated English. It was very moving, and not to mention, very brave.

Flanking all intersections to the rally were cops. Blue-shirted cops on horseback and on foot, taking away one guy's drumstick b/c it was a "weapon." Cops in green, boots planted wide on the pavement, slapping their scratched-up wooden clubs solidly--and obviously--into one palm, then the other. It was a little intimidating, and I thought, man, those undocumented girls have some major balls to be speaking out in this sort of crowd.

All in all, a pretty cool event. I'm not a huge fan of rallies/protests (all those people shouting and marching in a crowded space makes me little bit nervous), but for their sake, I hope it got the attention that they needed. Obama, are you listening?

something about white people

So apparently what I like to do now during lunch is eat at my desk and read the news instead of going down to the cafeteria and attempting to socialize with anyone with a personality grade above "arrogant, self-loving bitch." Thanks, grad school, for lowering my standards and paving the way to mealtimes full of awkward conversation!

Here's what I got today. So I have my own opinions about Christian Lander's book ("Stuff White People Like," which includes Asian girls as #11 on the list...which is awesome, because I literally cannot tell you enough about how much I love being objectified, even if it's tough-in-cheek), and his CNN article How We Became White provoked some thought. In it, he mentions being a white immigrant from Canada, and neatly checking off the "White" box in the US Census. There's no differentiation between White Americans and White immigrants--I guess white people are all assumed to be the same, which is to say, awesomely American and privileged and so forth. Which is, arguably, just as discriminatory as Seth Green's recent joke on SNL that the Asian American version of Snookie would be a violin-wielding and be-spectacled academic nightmare. (Although, to be honest, I was torn between laughing and shaking my head, because the kids in the Asian Student Council at W&M were probably some of the most outrageous and dramatic people I've ever met.)

It is interesting that Lander calls it "that wonderful privilege" to check the White box on the census. I mean, I get his argument, that a 1st generation Canadian-American would probably not be subjected to the same kinds of discrimination as 5th-generation Latino-Americans. Probably true. But do most White people see that privilege? Or really, is it a kind of curse for so many different kinds of people to be homogenized and stereotyped under one label?

baby blues

OMG I just figured out why some eyes are called "baby blues": because some babies are born with blue eyes that turn darker as they grow up. Thus, baby blues...the blues that you have as a baby. Good lord.

I blame this on being Asian.

I only figured out in high school that some kids are born blonde and then end up with brown hair (and to be honest, I didn't really believe it until I saw pics of Devin as a blonde child). Asian babies are born with dark eyes and dark hair and grow up to have...dark eyes and dark hair. Although I've met some old Asians whose eyes have started to fade in color, so their eyes turn blueish-grey. Pretty cool, actually. Sigh.

Oh my goodness, I'm boiling eggs right now and it's starting to making these disturbing rattling noises. Uhhhh. Gotta go!

exes and oh's

B mentioned one time that the smell of Peppermint Patties made her think of her mom. For some reason, that really stuck with me. Now, just thinking about Peppermint Patties makes me think of B! It's odd, these memory-association-type-things.

Anyway, that was a just a random thought. I miss my VA fam. Only 2.5 more weeks til C's wedding!

So here's a question: Is it okay for a friend to date your ex? A couple weeks ago, this CNN article asked that very question. I'm actually not super fond of the article, but I think it's a legit topic to explore. The author seems to conclude that it's okay as long as a simple conversation takes place between both parties to kind of stave off the inevitable awkwardness that will occur. But in an age of Facebook with all its pictures and suffocating networks of friends, that simple conversation rarely takes place. Most of us found out via Newsfeed if an ex is seeing a friend. Even if they've decided to be coy about it and leave their relationship status blank, it takes about 15 seconds to look at someone's pictures, read the comments and wallposts, and figure out the truth for yourself. We're all experienced FB stalkers here. Where is the common courtesy to even just say, "Hey listen, I'm dating your ex. I'll probably keep dating him no matter what you say, but hey, just wanted to let you know." How hard is that?

Should a friend date your ex? It sounds simple, but it's a loaded question that I think many of us struggle to answer. A lot of factors come into play. For one thing, how long were you and said ex dating? How close are you with your ex's new fling? How long was the break-up before the ex and your friend got together? Was your break-up amicable or was it like something out of the opening scene in Legally Blonde where that guy dumps Reese Witherspoon in the middle of a nice restaurant? (Ahem, I may or may not have recently caught that movie on TV. I also may or may not have shouted at the TV when it happened...you may have noticed that I harbor pretty strong opinions about guys who act like self-loving, smarmy, smug narcissists.)

But, most importantly, is your ex an honest gentleman-type with a healthy sense of shame? Or is he a weasel-y, lying sack of Class-A douchebaggery? (Or is "bag" too small and mild a term for what kind of jerk he was? Was he more of a douchechasm, or perhaps a douchecanyon? Douchecrater?)

And how long can you hang onto resentment for ex & his/her new fling before it gets to an unhealthy point? Conversely: is there such a thing as unhealthy resentment for an ex and any of his various bed-tramps? (Note: I realized "bed-tramps" is a bit of a harsh term, esp b/c most of those girls are perfectly nice people. But doesn't it just sound like the perfect insult? Bed-tramps!)

There's a lot to be said for honesty. I often think that a lot of these tricky relationship/ex-relationship problems can be worked through if only both parties were honest and tactful...but always easier said than done, right?

I'd love to hear some of your opinions on this topic!

do NOT mess with my cupcakes

I am pissed. Someone stole my cupcakes.

Let me back up.

Carolyn, a friend from high school, asked me a while ago if I'd ever been to Molly's Cupcakes in Chicago. I said no, but I'd heard of good things. Turns out she and some of her coworkers have been debating over the merits of Molly's Cupcakes vs DC's Georgetown Cupcakes. Splitting off, taking sides, etc--your typical Cupcake War.

They needed a neutral moderator to settle this debate once and for all. Since Molly's does not ship, Carolyn proposed that she mail me some Georgetown Cupcakes, and then I try them both and tell her which one I think is better. Never one to pass up on cupcakes, I said okay. Since I'll be going home in May, I thought I could try to smuggle some Molly's onto the plane to return the favor.

A few weeks go by. We're all very busy. I still haven't been able to make it down to Molly's. Then, on Wednesday night, I get a text from Carolyn asking me if I had received the package yet. I hadn't, but this was not out of the ordinary b/c the mail system at my apartment is a little slow. Because our mail boxes are so narrow, packages must be dropped off at the leasing office, whereupon they will put a package slip in your mailbox so you'll know you got one and can go pick it up. I didn't get a slip, but I was sure I would the next day.

But Carolyn got the FedEx delivery receipt, and it said it was left on the doorstep on Wednesday at noon, meaning it didn't make its way to the leasing office. I called the office a couple times yesterday and even sent Tyler to check the doorway to see if there were any boxes, but there was no sign of this package. Finally, I called the office again in the afternoon and asked if there was a procedure for me to report this stolen package. The receptionist at the leasing office (whom I'm developing a rapid dislike of) said, sounding rather annoyed, "But the mailmen are supposed to know to drop off packages with us."

Well, yes, they're supposed to. But there is no sign anywhere on the door/mailboxes that says this. She could not reasonably expect every single FedEx employee who passes through Evanston to know the idiosyncrasies of every single apartment building in the city. Ms. Receptionist said she'd send out a notice to let people know that my package was stolen and for people to look out for it. That's a nice gesture, Ms. Receptionist, but USELESS, you idiot woman. There is a bigger issue here: mail theft! Your lack of concern/seeming inability to grasp the deeper problem at hand is incredibly frustrating. What I want is to prevent this from happening again, not for someone to turn in an empty box of crumbs! I mean, what if Carolyn had mailed me important business papers, or tax information? Or something sentimental, like a photo album? Should that be left up to a delivery man (who is given absolutely no instruction on the proper place to deliver packages) and the moral conscience of my neighbors?? I sent off a somewhat fiesty email to Management last night, but have yet to receive a response. I'm sorry, but sending a notice for people to "look out for" my package is not enough. (Also, I have yet to receive said notice. Where is it, lady?) Stealing someone's mail is a crime, and I think my building should do more to prevent it from happening again.

So, Anonymous Cupcakes Stealer, I hope you know you committed a federal offense in taking my package. I hope you enjoyed the delicious specialty cupcakes that my friend sent me from Virginia. I hope you feel so guilty about eating stolen cupcakes that you will never, ever, EVER again in your life enjoy another cupcake without feeling like the sick, disgusting, greedy and unscrupulous person that you are.

girls = confusing

In the last few months, Tyler and I have been making an effort to become more a part of the Evanston community. This mostly means that he has joined a church, and I can recognize several of the PACE bus drivers. Not exactly thrilling stuf.

Anyway, we signed up to do this once-a-week class at Sheil called "Sex and the City of God." Of the dozen or so students, we are the only ones 1. graduated and 2. do not live in dorms. It's definitely been kind of a weird throw-back. I feel so far removed from campus/dorm life!

This week, we talked about intimacy, dating and the hook-up culture. Basically, it kind of boiled down to this: hooking up is super easy, and no one knows what dating is anymore. This one guy literally just said, "Girls, please, just tell me. What do you consider to be a 'date'? I thought I was dating this girl for like, weeks, until I realized that she didn't consider any of the things we did to be dates." It turned into a spirited conversation about dating and how blurred the lines were. Even the tradition dinner-movie-awkward triangle hug at the end of the night (shoulders in, butt out) could be construed a casual night out between platonic friends. Dating nowadays is such a grey area to navigate, it almost makes you long for the structured courtship of times past. Consider:

Dating today
Guy [via phone]: Hey, would you like to get dinner with me on Friday?
Girl: Yeah, sure.
Guy: Great. I'll come pick you up at 7.
Girl: Picking me up to go where? The cafeteria?
Guy: Oh...um. [awkward silence] I thought we could go somewhere else.
Girl: What do you mean?
Guy: Oh...I just thought we could go somewhere else.
Girl: Yeah, that sounds fun. Let me ask John, Jacob, Mary and Stu if they want to come, too!
Guy: Okay. [heart crushed]

Was it clear that he asking her out?? Who knows???

Dating in Times Past
Guy [after waiting in the calling room]: Hello! Can I take you out for a drive?
Girl: I appreciate the gesture, but I'm not interested.
Guy: Right. [leaves]

See how much more clear and helpful if everyone followed some sort of guide? Alas, it is not to be. At the end of our discussion, I saw that Tyler had written on his notepad in giant, loopy letters: "Girls = CONFUSING".

As the class wound down, our instructor, Beth, said something that's stuck with me: intimacy in a relationship is when your proximity becomes liberating. When being close to someone makes you feel more free, more like you can be yourself. Sharing physical and emotional space with someone doesn't mean you have to feel caged in or unrestricted or having to be less of who you are. It was an interesting message to leave with.

After class, Tyler took me home. A couple of odd topics had come up through the course of the evening, and kind of weighed heavily on my mind. You know, all those things about yourself that you don't want your partner to find out about? It's kind of like the emotional equivalent of having/trying to quit a coke habit w/o your partner realizing that he's dating a psycho. Prompted by Beth's description of intimacy, I emotions-vomited into the dashboard of Tyler's car. Flaws, shortcomings, wishing ill on people--things I never thought I'd confess to another person, b/c I was too ashamed to even want to acknowledge them to myself.

"You must think I'm crazy, that you're with this crazy person," I said afterwards, sniffling awkwardly into his shoulder.

"Oh, you," he said, patting me on the back. "Trust me, that's not why I think you're crazy."

And you know, it's weird...but it really did feel liberating.

yes, i have the time, and no, i'm not giving it to you

So I was waiting at the bus stop on Monday, calmly reading my book and trying not to shiver in my pea coat and scarf, when this big guy holding aloft a huge umbrella gets off one of the buses and walks briskly over to the bus shelter.

"Do any of you know the time--oh, what I am saying? Of course you don't," he said in one breath, a sneer in his voice.

I looked at him blankly as he walked away, his corpulent body hidden beneath an equally massive umbrella (why, though? It wasn't raining). I exchanged a quick look of bewilderment with the only other person at the bus stop, an elderly Asian woman in a pinkish-purple knit cap and matching jacket. (Sidenote: why does it seem that all elderly Asian women are fond of this strange color? My own grandmother is like obsessed with it. Shirts, pillowcases, lipstick, you name it, and she has it in that strange, faded berry color.)

Then I felt a little offended. What did he mean, of course we don't? Because we're women, and women don't have...watches or cell phones...? Because we're Asian, so thereby we must...stingy with giving away the time?

Or did he think that we didn't understand him, didn't speak English?

I am ashamed of how quickly I jump to that possibility. But sometimes, I can't help but wonder. What other motivations could he have for acting the way he did?

Regardless of motive, he was rude. And if he had bothered to ask, it was 4:56, thank you very much. And the next bus to Jefferson Park will be arriving shortly. Jerk.

Non-Fattie Day 3

One of my Medill friends posted this USA Today story on Twitter today about the extreme dieting that goes on in Asia. Girls swallowing parasites and living on the edge of starvation, all trying to hit the magic number: 100. That's 100 pounds, regardless of height.

If you're an Asian girl, or have close friends who are Asian girls, this is hardly news. Of course you're trying to be thin. All your Asian girl friends want to be thin--or are thin and want to be thinner. Your mothers are trying to be thin. Your aunties are. So you have to be, too, not only because you want to look good, but simply out of self-preservation: there is nothing quite so passive-aggressive as family get-togethers when it comes to criticizing the weight of the younger generation. I can't tell you how many times growing up where aunties and uncles would come up to me (or worse, my mom) and say, "Chubby-chubby, huh? What's your mom feeding you at home?" Sometimes other aunties/uncles would come to my "defense," saying things like, "Aiya! Leave her alone! Just you wait 'til she gets a boyfriend, then she'll care about how she looks." I once thought an auntie was leaning in for a hug, when really she wanted to pinch the fat around my middle to see if I'd gained weight.

And these are people who care about me and truly meant well. (Well, except for the aunt who once told me that I'd be fat if I ate dessert after dinner. I responded by eating a whole slice of chocolate cake. It was awesome. Both the cake and her horrified expression.) Wanting to be thin is just...kind of how it goes, I think, not only in the Asian community but in American, as well. Asian girls maybe got a bit of a head start, and also don't have boobs and butts to contend with during the whole process. I spent a lot of my childhood obsessing over the numbers, crying over the numbers, wishing and praying for the numbers to shrink. I used to do room scans in elementary school: Am I the fattest girl in this room? Am I bigger than her? How about her? Okay, okay, but at least I'm not bigger than the teacher. Right? Right??

Apparently, that's not healthy. It's been a long time since I've really obsessed over weight--the latter years of high school and college were fairly stable, and I was too busy with school and CSO to worry about it anyway. And what a great feeling that was! To just eat anything, at any time, without calculating what it's going to cost you later on. Or even just trying on last year's summer clothes at the end of winter and finding that your shorts still fit. (That's a feeling that I will never take for granted--there is nothing like the giddy excitement of zipping up shorts after 6 months of cold-weather binge-eating!)

But it's so scary how quickly that obsessive mindset come back and take hold. After seeing my new weight number on Saturday, the panic and anxiety creeped in within hours. Just in the last 3 days, I've thought about buying a scale at least 30 times. I ate an Oreo after dinner last night and felt inexplicably guilty about it. I mean, it's ridiculous, right? Ridiculous.

After reading the article, a part of me is like "These girls are crazy," but the other part is like "Yes, of course." No matter how long I'd been able to walk away from constant worrying about my weight, that huge fear comes back so quickly if I crack even just a little. The concept of dieting to be thin is rooted so deeply, I don't know if it's possible to ever really break free of it.

Case in point: I told my mom about my new weight and she responded with bemused horror ("Hahaha! What?! How did you get that big??") and then advised me to eat steamed pumpkin slices b/c it's low in calories but high in fiber--and it's important to eat it with the peel still on. She heard about it on an Asian TV show.

March Madnesses

I know I said in my last post (um, like a month and a half ago) that I would talk more about my fears. The topic of this post is not exactly about fears, but is closely related enough.

But to bring you up to date: outside of work and commute, it's been a busy month, a veritable March of Family/Friends. I'd really missed my VA folks so much, and it was so, so good to see so many familiar faces in my newly adopted city two weekends in a row. Then it was Tyler's turn to have family and friends in town, so we've just been busy entertaining and eating...and eating...and eating,.

Yesterday I went to the doctor's to get a physical under my brand new health care plan and got my 10-year tetanus shot. How's that for perspective? It's been TEN YEARS since I got my last one before I entered high school. Um, high school was ten years ago?!?! What the eff happened to all this time?? I felt so old. For all you almost-24-year-olds out there, the tetanus shot hurts like a sadistic mofo (yes ladies, it hurts more than the HPV shot). My arm is still really sore and I had a pretty wicked headache yesterday from the shot--1 in 300 adults get headaches from tetanus shots. Lucky me!

So why does all of this relate to fear? Well, it's b/c I also discovered that I had gained 7 pounds since September. Does the March of Family/Friends & Gino's East deep dish pizza have something to do with this? Perhaps. What about the fact that I now live in Chicago, where it's 8 months of winter, 3.5 months of fall, and 2 weeks of spring/summer? I wear longs jeans and sweaters for about 10 months of the year. I'm not even sure where my bathing suit is. But fact of the matter is, probably wouldn't hurt to eat a little bit healthier, esp with Colette's wedding coming up in May. I definitely want to fit into my bridesmaid dress!

Also I watched an episode of "Kendra" (yeah whatever, judge me) and she was crying b/c she just had a baby and she is struggling with the baby weight and not liking how she looked in her clothes. My heart totally went out to her, and I was like, "I might not have a personal trainer, but gosh darn it, I can eat better at least!"

So yesterday, Tyler and I designated it "Last Fattie Day for a While"--b/c we love meats and cheeses, and I know I would get super depressed if I had to give up pastas and stuf. We indulged in dim sum in Chinatown with some Medill lovelies, and then gorged on The Meats pizza and cheesy bread from Papa John's. I went to the store today and bought some salad and assorted vegetables and yogurt. And a pint of chocolate ice cream. Because yes, I'm going to eat healthy, but I'm not going to be crazy about it! Girl needs her Haagan Daaz.

Fertility Fears

As some of you might know, I have a basic laundry list of fears in life that looks something like this:

- Dying
- My loved ones dying
- Someone dying or dead in my bathtub (which is why I have to have opaque shower curtains--not clear curtains, b/c I'm also afraid of someone accidentally walking in on me in the shower)
- Being impregnated w/o my knowledge (it's happened before, and it just might happen again, and let me tell you, I am definitely NOT Mary, Mother of God, so any child that I have in this way would most likely be some sort of demon, gremlin, or elf)
- Being infertile

I'm not entirely sure how that last fear evolved, but somewhere down the line I just got this feeling that I'm not terribly fertile. My mom had a hard time conceiving my brother, and I just have this nagging suspicion that I'm going to have the same problem. (TMI? Sorry.)

Anyway, I developed this timeline in college: get married in my 20s, have babies before 30. It might look simple, but I definitely struggled with it. I'd always kind of thought that I'd be a career woman--you know, college educated, graduate school, pulling absurd hours and rising the ranks at some magazine. And maybe, MAYBE getting married in my 30s, have children a little later on, that sort of thing. As you can see, my fear of infertility changed my life's plans quite a bit. So much for gung-ho feminism, right? Let's have some babies, stat!

Oh, you laugh. Many people did. But Steph sent me an article a couple days ago that completely validates my fears: Women lose 90% of their eggs by the age of 30!! And only have 3% left when they're 40!!! NOT COOL, WOMB. (You can access the article here.)

What the heck?? How is that fair?!?! How come guys can have babies 'til they're 70 without a second thought?!!?!? GARGH. If there's anything more frustrating than having quasi-irrational/completely speculative fears is having that fear confirmed by science.

So if this happens to all normal women, all I can think of is how much worse it will be if I'm not all that fertile to begin with. I had planned to stick to my timeline before, but you can bet that I'm definitely gluing myself to it now. (Watch out, boys! Just kiddingggg.)

Stay tuned for my next post, where I'll tell you about my fear of scurvy!

Bopping and Grilling

Last night, Tyler and I covered a basketball game at Evanston Township. The game was at 7, so we decided to grab a quick dinner somewhere close to the high school. I let Tyler pick the place, and he decided on this hole-in-the-wall place called Bop N Grill that recently sprung up along the Bus 93 route. (Read: I dropped subtle hints all week that essentially strong-armed Tyler into "making" this decision).

As some of my Korean friends/aficionados (ahem, Nicholas 107) might suspect from the name, Bop N Grill is a little Korean-owned establishment that serves a combination of Asian and American foods. BBQ short ribs and french fries? Sure. Angus burger topped with a fried egg and a side of rice? You got it, dude.

"This place is like an American restaurant and a Pan-Asian restaurant had sex and now we're standing in its baby," Tyler said, checking out the diner-style menu board and a wall taped with pictures of its star dishes like a proud mama's living room. We both ordered the BBQ short ribs plate, which came with scoops of rice, a side salad drizzled with Thousand Island dressing, and heap of french fries. Check it out (all pics are from their website, http://bopngrill.com/index.html):

Picture is slightly misleading, as there was no kimchi. I think I'll ask them about that next time. Anyway, the kalbi were hot and tasty, reminding me a lot of Connie's mom's amazing cooking. Of course, it was more fast-food-y, and less made-with-love-y, but still, quite yummy. Tyler and my dinner conversation went something like this:

T: Yum. That was good.

V: Mmmphtgrrffff [tears into another piece of beef] Ohmygarrghmmmm.

T: [scoots away] Easy there, lioness.

The guy behind the counter was super nice and seemed to know a lot of his repeat customers by name and recent agenda. He asked if we liked sweets, and then made us the restaurant's only dessert, the eggroll brownie, on the house.

I imagine it must be what a fried Twinkie must be like--hot and sweet on the inside, kind of crunchy and kind of oily-tasting on the outside. It wasn't bad. I dunno if I'd get it on my own, but you can't turn down free dessert, right? I would've gone back for the food alone anyway, but that definitely sealed the deal. Guy knows how to do his business, huh? So yeah, if you're in the mood for delicious and reasonably priced Asian-American food and happen to be on Church St, this is definitely the place to go!

another heartache, another failed romance...on and on...

Another Friday. Another night of watching high school basketball--not one game, but two. In the last few weeks, I've effectively quadrupled the number of high school basketball games that I've attended in my entire life. Which brings my total game-attendance number to 4.

Tonight's games were really exciting, because they were raising money for breast cancer and it seemed like the entire town came out to support the two competing teams. Lots of little kids running around, which made me nervous b/c I thought they were going to get trampled. One little boy took particular interest in Tyler's tri-colored score-keeping and kept turning around an peeking over Tyler's knee to get a look at his notes. (As for me, I kept thinking the "HP" scrawled on the notepad stood for "Harry Potter" instead of "Highland Park"...yes, I am a nerd.)

Truth be told, the amount of energy crammed into the tiny gym made me really nervous. I don't think I've ever witnessed that much school spirit outside of movies--turns out that people really DO get excited about basketball games in real life! Who knew? People paint their faces! They do mass arm wavey things! They chant the names of the players!! They actually WANT to be there!!

At W&M, they had to close a cafeteria and set up a buffet line at the court to get people to even remotely consider going to a basketball game. And I have no idea how basketball games worked at CHS b/c I was too busy staying out of the players' way.

It's weird seeing high school from 6 years out, b/c it really is like nothing changed. The girls behind me giggled about how cute the boys are from the other team (the exotic other team!), which took me back to a particular choir trip to Atlanta where girls from our choir fawned over boys from another choir. Ah, teenagedom. It will never change.

Which brings me to tonight's blog point: I am terrified of having children. No, not just the pregnancy bit; I've kind of accepted that that's going to have to happen and my belly button will never look the same again. But it's the fact that teenage years never change. And my God, my teenage years were a wreck of failed romances and awkward decisions and blown-up drama. And on and on and on and on and on! How can I possibly deal with a having that again in my own home? The Ivory Tower/Rapunzel housing situation suddenly makes a lot of sense--because I really hate to think about these half-children running around, making their own decisions and making stupid decisions. I don't have kids yet, but man, the thought of letting them go makes me kind of sick to my stomach. How did our parents ever do it? And why weren't we more scared about the world and what awaited us? I guess that's one detriment to hindsight: if we had known just how hard and unforgiving the real world was, would we ever have even bothered getting out of bed? For these kids, these games are their lives and they're so wrapped up in the newness of drama and love and achievement. And there's something so sweet about that. As a good friend of mine recently said, it kind of makes you wonder if any of them know that senior year just might be their peak, and it's all downhill from there. Because unless you're really that good, you're going to have to do more with your life than play ball or wave pompoms.

Chantilly in the Big I-L

As some of you might know, Tyler freelances for an up-and-coming site called CSL Insiders, which covers all the high school sports in our area. I tagged along with him tonight as his photographer (hopefully will get photo credit this time!) Yes, we're a fun couple on Friday nights. ("I'm going to go to a high school basketball game and write about it! You can take pictures! OKAY!")

They played "Chantilly Lace" during half-time while the players were warming up. At the first sound of that opening "HEYYYYYYY, babyyyy!" I was viciously thrown into a flashback of short purple skirts; blurs of blockheaded boy-children crowding the hallways; "pep rallies" that were not really so much peppy as it was just kind of stupid. So that was weird. I mean, what are the chances that anyone outside of Chantilly High School even knows that song?? The team had been warming up to a combination of hip-hop and Miley Cyrus (yeah, that was weird, too), and then suddenly, there was that HEYYYYY BABY.

After the game, Tyler ran to get quotes from both of the coaches so I waited for him in the hallway. During the 10 minutes that he was gone, I could've sworn I relived high school.

First off, there was me, in a big awkward coat off in the corner clutching my camera bag, not really belonging to any crowd, watching everyone else interact. Then there were all the giggling, shrieking cheerleaders prancing around and literally throwing themselves at the varsity basketball players, who all tried to look bored and uninterested as they ate their after-game snack of hot dogs and nachos from the concession stand. All of these semi-children lingered on the stairs for their rides, hormones sloshing around their veins as generously as the prevalent orthodontia in their mouths. They eyed one another in a sort of crazed glee that made me wonder: Are they really this perky, or is this learned behavior from TV or great American stereotypes? Like do they really want to act this way, or do they just THINK they should be, following in the footsteps of generations of smiling beautiful cheerleaders/nonchalant athlete hot shots? To complete the whole experience, there was actually one cheerleader bawling into her locker as her two friends alternately patted her on the back and flirted with the guys.

Tyler could not hustle back from wherever he was fast enough. Doing high school once was bad enough; re-living it again in any sort of abbreviated version is just unnecessary.

obsession with the cute

My friend Anna shared a Vanity Fair article with me last month about the "culture of cute" that is sort of taking over the American cultural norm. The article traced the origins of the cute-mania to Japan, where the obsession with cute things has been a prevalent part of their culture. The author, Jim Windolf, didn't seem that enthused by how this trend is trickling out of the East and into the Western world. However, I think this is because he is a man and therefore probably has an innate fear that he will one day wake up and find his home decorated entirely with Hello Kitty products, courtesy of his wife.

So while I found the article to be an intriguing look at the globalization of culture, as an Asian female, this is not exactly news. Did I grow up eating Asian pastries shaped like fish and other assorted wildlife? Yes. Who had a change purse embossed with a cartoon hamster? Right here. Was I once bestowed by my Taiwanese cousin with a full set of 40 (yes, 40) Hello Kitty magnets that she had collected from the local 7-11 because she had 3 full sets and wanted to get rid of one? You betcha. In fact, my high school boyfriend once told me that all Asian women liked things that were "small, cute and useless." (I retorted that that was why I liked him. Jerk.)

Most of my childhood was spent in this cute-crazed world before it really caught on in the States. If you knew me in my childhood years, you will also know that I was a chubby, shy, be-spectacled ball (literal, not figurative) of awkwardness. Perhaps because of this, I was very reluctant to embrace the "cuteness" that I felt like I really could not relate to. Also, a sort of inner feminist screamed at me to be taken seriously as a smart, capable person, and not as some sort of adorable, airheaded bimbo that people liked because she was pretty, or whatever. (Yes, even as a 10-year-old, I knew that I couldn't trade on my looks, and so developed an intense aversion to people who did. It's still kind of a complex.)

In the last few years, it's really become acceptable for full-grown women--and men--to publicly proclaim things to be cute and still be taken seriously. At first, I was really kind of turned off to how all these so-called mature figures were openly squealing over Winnie the Pooh or a particularly adorable dish shaped like a giraffe.

And this was the shocker...it really did make me happy to see something that is cute. Like in a bubbling, breathless, kind of hyperventilating sort of way. But I wonder, is this sort of reaction one that is learned, because it's become socially acceptable to ooo and aahhh over a helpless turtle trying to eat a tomato or the stealthy Ninja Cat? Am I really happy to see a baby bunnie, or is it because I'm expected to, as a living and breathing young woman? Was I becoming an Asian--well, now American, too--stereotype?

I don't know what this really means about me, but all I know is, this picture got me through most of the hellish 4th quarter that was Medill:


And no, I'm not ashamed to admit that it's now the tiled background on my work computer. Stereotypes be damned, I love this baby bunnie! [Squeal!]