tourists, that is.
new york city is their oyster and they are just
slurping it up sans lemon juice or tabasco.
I've lived in the fabulous city of New York for almost 5 years now. I was born in Flushing and raised in the Bronx for a few years before moving on out to the suburbs of New Jersey, so I'd say I have quite a heart for this magnificent city. When people complain about NYC being too noisy or dirty or hectic, I give them the finger (not really, just in my head a little). I can't complain--even the tourists didn't bother me.
Until I moved a block down from Wall Street.
5th Ave? Yea. Central Park? Oh yea. SoHo? Of course. Times Square? Definitely. But WALL STREET? Are you kidding me?! Maybe if you're particularly interested in the NYSE or the history of finance, fine, but let's be real; how many of these tourists, who barely speak English, actually give a flying frisbee about a street teeming with self-absorbed financiers (aka "suits") and self-important security guards? Wall Street is conveniently lined with subway stations that take me wherever I please in Manhattan. However, due to the overwhelming amount of tourists, getting to the subway has become increasingly difficult. Groups of poorly dressed Asians and poorly shaved Europeans loiter in the middle of the street in hopes of finding the perfect pose to make against the NYSE backdrop. I think these people spill over from the WTC site, not knowing where else to go. Please just stay there; there's really not much to see down here.
Recently, I learned that those tourist double-decker bus things start their journey through NYC somewhere near my apartment as well. They are almost as bad as the tourists on Wall Street. After a long day at work, I do not need a bus full of people staring down at me (sometimes even snapping pictures), blocking my path home.
I am genuinely curious as to what the tourguide says into his little microphone thing to the people on the bus.
Tourguide: "Here, we have...a street...with offices...and a lot of Halal food carts...where people make millions of trillions of dollars a day through what is called investment banking."
Tourists: "oOOOoOoooooOOooo~~~~~~ *snaps pictures*"
Give me a break.
So there it is, my one qualm about New York City. Not tourists in general, but tourists on Wall Street. Okay wait, I lied about the "one" qualm. I have another--pidgeons. I effing hate pidgeons. Almost as much as mice, rats, and miniature greyhounds. But that's a story for another post.
Cheers,
Cheryl
Monday, June 29, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
quick thought #1
I'm going to start posting what I call, "quick thoughts" from now on. Basically, they're just random thoughts I have that don't warrant an essay of a post but deserve a lil' blog-time for being somewhat clever, interesting, or humorous. So here goes.
Had Michael Jackson and Lisa Marie Presley reproduced during their marriage, their child would have been the ultimate entertainer. MJ AND Elvis' genes? Oh, man. I'm kind of relieved they didn't because the kid could have potentially taken over the world. Can you imagine a hip-thrusting, moon-walking, kind of white but really black but actually both, superstar with immaculate sideburns singing "Jailhouse Thriller" or "Beat It, Hound Dog"?! Man, the King of Pop and the King of Rock 'N Roll in one. Kind of like if Ghandi and Mother Theresa had kids.
Crazy.
Had Michael Jackson and Lisa Marie Presley reproduced during their marriage, their child would have been the ultimate entertainer. MJ AND Elvis' genes? Oh, man. I'm kind of relieved they didn't because the kid could have potentially taken over the world. Can you imagine a hip-thrusting, moon-walking, kind of white but really black but actually both, superstar with immaculate sideburns singing "Jailhouse Thriller" or "Beat It, Hound Dog"?! Man, the King of Pop and the King of Rock 'N Roll in one. Kind of like if Ghandi and Mother Theresa had kids.
Crazy.
Friday, June 26, 2009
she's fly effortlessly.
my man ne-yo has it all wrong.
The song "Miss Independent," by r&b artist Ne-Yo, was playing at a bar I was at last night. For whatever reason, my subconscious ingested the line "she's fly effortlessly" and would not let it go. Until I blogged about it, of course.
Let me enlighten all of my male readers (if you exist), and help my female readers face the unforgiving truth. Ladies, let's be honest for a minute here, we are not fly effortlessly. If you're reading this and thinking, "nuh-uh, what is she talking about, I don't wear make-up, I don't dye my hair, I don't dress-up, shoot, I don't even look in the MIRROR before leaving my house!" Girl, YOU'RE LYING.
99.9% of women alter their physical appearance in a more appealing way for their own self-esteem, for the men they hope to attract, and the women they hope to challenge. If only men knew of the effort my friends and I made 2 hours prior to venturing out into the night, they would treat us like porcelain dolls--not barbies.
All that baloney about fresh-facedness and natural glow that you read in magazines takes just as much effort--if not more--as painting your face with $70 make-up products. Today, "looking effortless" is, in and of itself, a crapload of effort. I'll admit though, there are some women who can roll out of bed after eating ramyun the night before looking like the cat's meow. However, it is usually the lucky men who bed them that make this verdict. I'm pretty sure most women don't wake up, look in the mirror and think, "I am just looking all kinds of fly today!" No, it is the boyfriend or husband who says, "My girlfriend looks the best when she wakes up in the morning." Dude, let me tell you something, that's not your girl looking fly, that's called being in love.
If you really are in the .01% of women this post does not pertain to (more specifically, if you look like a.jolie, a.lima, a.judd, r.mcadams, or n.portman), I am jealous.
Ne-yo, go re-write that song. Gabrielle Union looked fly as hell in your video, but she also had a team of 20 somewhat make-up artists and hairstylists behind her "effortless" look.
Cheers,
Cheryl
PS: Don't get me wrong; I'm a confident girl. I think I look pretty freaking hot 23.5/7 but I also wouldn't be caught dead going out without mascara and heels.
The song "Miss Independent," by r&b artist Ne-Yo, was playing at a bar I was at last night. For whatever reason, my subconscious ingested the line "she's fly effortlessly" and would not let it go. Until I blogged about it, of course.
Let me enlighten all of my male readers (if you exist), and help my female readers face the unforgiving truth. Ladies, let's be honest for a minute here, we are not fly effortlessly. If you're reading this and thinking, "nuh-uh, what is she talking about, I don't wear make-up, I don't dye my hair, I don't dress-up, shoot, I don't even look in the MIRROR before leaving my house!" Girl, YOU'RE LYING.
99.9% of women alter their physical appearance in a more appealing way for their own self-esteem, for the men they hope to attract, and the women they hope to challenge. If only men knew of the effort my friends and I made 2 hours prior to venturing out into the night, they would treat us like porcelain dolls--not barbies.
All that baloney about fresh-facedness and natural glow that you read in magazines takes just as much effort--if not more--as painting your face with $70 make-up products. Today, "looking effortless" is, in and of itself, a crapload of effort. I'll admit though, there are some women who can roll out of bed after eating ramyun the night before looking like the cat's meow. However, it is usually the lucky men who bed them that make this verdict. I'm pretty sure most women don't wake up, look in the mirror and think, "I am just looking all kinds of fly today!" No, it is the boyfriend or husband who says, "My girlfriend looks the best when she wakes up in the morning." Dude, let me tell you something, that's not your girl looking fly, that's called being in love.
If you really are in the .01% of women this post does not pertain to (more specifically, if you look like a.jolie, a.lima, a.judd, r.mcadams, or n.portman), I am jealous.
Ne-yo, go re-write that song. Gabrielle Union looked fly as hell in your video, but she also had a team of 20 somewhat make-up artists and hairstylists behind her "effortless" look.
Cheers,
Cheryl
PS: Don't get me wrong; I'm a confident girl. I think I look pretty freaking hot 23.5/7 but I also wouldn't be caught dead going out without mascara and heels.
keep on.
with the force don't stop
don't stop 'til you get it on.
The legendary Michael Jackson passes away on June 25th, 2009 at the young age of 50. The effect his death has on the world, I can safely say, is greater than that of the United States of America electing a president of color.
Farrah Fawcett also passed away today. It's a bit unfortunate how MJ's death took away, in a sense, from hers. Regardless, 2 icons are gone from this world and I feel grateful to have lived during their lifetime. I'm not going to pretend that I'm deeply mournful or distressed about Michael Jackson's death because I'm not. He was talented beyond the likes of any entertainer who's ever lived and I respect and admire what he's accomplished for the music industry. To think that children born from today on will live in a world where the "King of Pop" MJ doesn't exist, is somewhat saddening and unbelievable.
I apologize for any crude jokes I've made in the past about your disintegrating nose and the decreasing amount of pigmentation in your skin.
cheers to MJ & FF,
Cheryl
don't stop 'til you get it on.
The legendary Michael Jackson passes away on June 25th, 2009 at the young age of 50. The effect his death has on the world, I can safely say, is greater than that of the United States of America electing a president of color.
Farrah Fawcett also passed away today. It's a bit unfortunate how MJ's death took away, in a sense, from hers. Regardless, 2 icons are gone from this world and I feel grateful to have lived during their lifetime. I'm not going to pretend that I'm deeply mournful or distressed about Michael Jackson's death because I'm not. He was talented beyond the likes of any entertainer who's ever lived and I respect and admire what he's accomplished for the music industry. To think that children born from today on will live in a world where the "King of Pop" MJ doesn't exist, is somewhat saddening and unbelievable.
I apologize for any crude jokes I've made in the past about your disintegrating nose and the decreasing amount of pigmentation in your skin.
cheers to MJ & FF,
Cheryl
Thursday, June 25, 2009
online shopping.
you don't actually feel like you're spending anything
'cus all you're doing is clicking and typing.
When I get that daily email from Gilt Groupe boasting its sales to me, I usually ignore them because I don't have the time or money to spend on luxurious items. With a regular paycheck, however, I realized that I can afford to spend a couple of hundred bucks here and there.
Boy, was I wrong.
A beautiful white snakeskin gold ring and a plum and brown silk enlaced gold chain necklace are on their way to me.
Rent can wait...
Cheers,
Cheryl
'cus all you're doing is clicking and typing.
When I get that daily email from Gilt Groupe boasting its sales to me, I usually ignore them because I don't have the time or money to spend on luxurious items. With a regular paycheck, however, I realized that I can afford to spend a couple of hundred bucks here and there.
Boy, was I wrong.
A beautiful white snakeskin gold ring and a plum and brown silk enlaced gold chain necklace are on their way to me.
Rent can wait...
Cheers,
Cheryl
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
yo bonita.
this is the way my dad starts
the majority of our blackberry messenger conversations.
I recently revealed my blog to my mommy via gchat. She then forwarded the post, "daddy loves burberry" to my daddy. A couple of minutes ago, I received a bbm from him:
Daddy: Yo bonita
Daddy: Just read your blog
Daddy: What wrinkle you talking about?
Me: Hahaha, jk daddy!
Daddy: I luv that swing of yours. Wish I was a bad father and dragged you out golfing when u were little
Daddy: Then, we'll be in LPGA. U player me caddy
Me: Hahaha I wish!
Daddy: Oh well... LPGA or not, I luv my doter.
Me: I love my daddy too.
Daddy: PS- I love burberry but I luver cash too.
Me: ahHAHAhahaha I'll keep that in mind daddy!
Daddy: All I want is your happiness. Just do the rite thing
Last week, our convo went something like this:
Me: I thank God you are alive and healthy daddy.
Daddy: ...Oh my......... this is overwhelming.
My dad cracks me up. My mom is even more hilarious sometimes. Maybe I'll put up some of her quotes in a later post. Such unique parents I have.
"I luv my doter." I love my daddy and mommy more.
Cheers,
Cheryl
PS: By the way, "doter" = "daughter." I've tried correcting him; he insists on saying "doter." Beats me why, but I guess it's unique? :)
the majority of our blackberry messenger conversations.
I recently revealed my blog to my mommy via gchat. She then forwarded the post, "daddy loves burberry" to my daddy. A couple of minutes ago, I received a bbm from him:
Daddy: Yo bonita
Daddy: Just read your blog
Daddy: What wrinkle you talking about?
Me: Hahaha, jk daddy!
Daddy: I luv that swing of yours. Wish I was a bad father and dragged you out golfing when u were little
Daddy: Then, we'll be in LPGA. U player me caddy
Me: Hahaha I wish!
Daddy: Oh well... LPGA or not, I luv my doter.
Me: I love my daddy too.
Daddy: PS- I love burberry but I luver cash too.
Me: ahHAHAhahaha I'll keep that in mind daddy!
Daddy: All I want is your happiness. Just do the rite thing
Last week, our convo went something like this:
Me: I thank God you are alive and healthy daddy.
Daddy: ...Oh my......... this is overwhelming.
My dad cracks me up. My mom is even more hilarious sometimes. Maybe I'll put up some of her quotes in a later post. Such unique parents I have.
"I luv my doter." I love my daddy and mommy more.
Cheers,
Cheryl
PS: By the way, "doter" = "daughter." I've tried correcting him; he insists on saying "doter." Beats me why, but I guess it's unique? :)
the last ones alive.
really? the last ones? really?
you are my exception.
if a guy wants to be with a girl,
he will make it happen no matter what.
if he's treating you like he doesn't give a shit,
he genuinely doesn't give a shit.
So, I just watched "He's Just Not That Into You" with my roommates. I should be sleeping but I couldn't help opening up my blog to jot down my thoughts after watching this movie. People have been talking about it for a while but I'm a little slow so I only just saw it. To be honest, this movie didn't open doors that hadn't already been walked through for me. I expected it to be just a little more realistic than it was, but it was still a decent generalization of women.
I really think there are only 2 problems:
1) Women overanalyze, overthink, overreact, over-EVERYTHING.
2) Women can niether make that first move in fear of rejection, nor accept the reality of rejection. (Which is why their pride forces them to justify and make excuses for every situation. ex) he's busy, he lost my number, he had a death in the family, he got hit by a truck, it's my fault, etc.)
If these 2 problems were solved, I think we'd all be living in a fantastic cosmos of a dating world. Too bad it's never going to happen. Too bad I'm an example of 1 & 2 myself. Too bad I know this, I'm writing a blog about it, yet I still can't change. It's really too bad.
I mean, if I think about every guy I've ever rejected at a club or a bar, I have to say, men have balls (pun unintended). Why is it okay for ladies to reject men, no, wait for men to approach them just to reject them, when they're not taking a chance either? We automatically assume that men at bars or clubs are sleezy and looking for one thing: ass. But aren't we frequenting the same bars and clubs looking for something as well? It really is such a double-standard.
At the same time, I've never met a guy at a bar or club that was interesting enough to keep around. Some of the crap I hear or some of the crap I see blows my mind. Seriously? Do you really think that's attractive? I kind of feel like it's an Asian thing though. I am convinced Asian men cannot carry on a stimulating conversation. Except the one. I guess he's my exception? Or my rule? Which is it? If you haven't seen the movie, you wouldn't understand. Either way, it's been too much for too long.
I'm going to buy a guy a drink on Friday night (and hope that he's got at least half a brain).
cheers,
Cheryl
PS: The wrong guy said the right thing to me tonight. How much does that suck, eh?
you are my exception.
if a guy wants to be with a girl,
he will make it happen no matter what.
if he's treating you like he doesn't give a shit,
he genuinely doesn't give a shit.
So, I just watched "He's Just Not That Into You" with my roommates. I should be sleeping but I couldn't help opening up my blog to jot down my thoughts after watching this movie. People have been talking about it for a while but I'm a little slow so I only just saw it. To be honest, this movie didn't open doors that hadn't already been walked through for me. I expected it to be just a little more realistic than it was, but it was still a decent generalization of women.
I really think there are only 2 problems:
1) Women overanalyze, overthink, overreact, over-EVERYTHING.
2) Women can niether make that first move in fear of rejection, nor accept the reality of rejection. (Which is why their pride forces them to justify and make excuses for every situation. ex) he's busy, he lost my number, he had a death in the family, he got hit by a truck, it's my fault, etc.)
If these 2 problems were solved, I think we'd all be living in a fantastic cosmos of a dating world. Too bad it's never going to happen. Too bad I'm an example of 1 & 2 myself. Too bad I know this, I'm writing a blog about it, yet I still can't change. It's really too bad.
I mean, if I think about every guy I've ever rejected at a club or a bar, I have to say, men have balls (pun unintended). Why is it okay for ladies to reject men, no, wait for men to approach them just to reject them, when they're not taking a chance either? We automatically assume that men at bars or clubs are sleezy and looking for one thing: ass. But aren't we frequenting the same bars and clubs looking for something as well? It really is such a double-standard.
At the same time, I've never met a guy at a bar or club that was interesting enough to keep around. Some of the crap I hear or some of the crap I see blows my mind. Seriously? Do you really think that's attractive? I kind of feel like it's an Asian thing though. I am convinced Asian men cannot carry on a stimulating conversation. Except the one. I guess he's my exception? Or my rule? Which is it? If you haven't seen the movie, you wouldn't understand. Either way, it's been too much for too long.
I'm going to buy a guy a drink on Friday night (and hope that he's got at least half a brain).
cheers,
Cheryl
PS: The wrong guy said the right thing to me tonight. How much does that suck, eh?
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
honey bunches of oats.
a tribute to the best cereal ever.
Anyone who knows me knows that I am not a morning person. Thus, I am not a breakfast person. A cup of coffee and a banana, fine, but anything beyond that is usually a no-go for me. My morning ritual consists of turning off my annoying “Nobody” alarm, opening my eyes, laying in bed for 3 extra minutes (hoping I don’t fall asleep again), followed by the 3 “up”s: wash-up, make-up, dress-up. After all is done, I grab my louis, mj, prada, gucci or whatever bag I’m feeling for the day, and leave my apartment without a second glance.
This was before I rediscovered Honey Bunches of Oats cereal. When I was younger, my mom would make me eat this all the time. I hated it because it didn't have marshmallows like Lucky Charms, didn't snap, crackle, and pop like Rice Krispie Treats, and wasn't colorful like Fruit Loops. How ignorant of a child I was.
This cereal is delightful in texture, taste, and calories. I can't even begin to tell you of the perfection that is Honey Bunches of Oats. So I won't. Although, I guess I already did. Whatever.
I'm going to go eat a bowl now.
cheers,
Cherylfly me to the moon.
and pick a star out of the sky for me while you're at it.
In Korean dramas you can frequently hear women asking their men to "하늘에서 별 따와." I never really understood what this meant or what significance it held in terms of a lasting relationship. I guess I still don't. "Fly me to the moon," as per Frank Sinatra, is understandable; afterall, we did "land" on the moon once before (although I'm a skeptic about this, I'll pretend to believe it for the purposes of this post). But "pick a star out of the sky"? How far-fetched is that? Asking your man to pick a star out of the sky for you is unreasonable, illogical, irrational, selfish, and all-around absurd. It sure sounds super romantic though, doesn't it?
Man: "What do you want me to do? I'll do anything."
Woman: "Really?"
Man: "Yes."
Woman: "Go pick a star out of the sky for me."
I'm assuming this phrase is the equivalent of "go to the ends of the earth for you" in English? It's funny because my church is called The Ends of the Earth Church (yeayea, everyone thinks it's a cult -.-), so I never considered going to the ends of the earth for anyone but Jesus. Speaking of Jesus, "Here In My Life" by Hillsong United is so incredibly touching. When I first heard it, it made me cry almost as much as the Lifehouse "Everything" skit did.
This post is becoming complicated. I won't bore the minimal number of readers I have with my random tangents. Anyway, back to my point (or lack thereof). I used to think I'd fall in love with one, and only one, person and live out this Korean drama-esque love story with him, probably picking multiple stars out of the sky along the way. A year ago, I might have even said I found him. Today, I laugh at how ridiculously infatuated I had been. Did I love him? Perhaps. Was I in love with him? I don't think so.
I still want to believe love comes once. 'Cus if I had really been in love, I don't know that I can ever fall out of it. (That was totally a Carrie Bradshaw moment. Love her; don't put it past me to post about her one day.)
In conclusion, I'm still waiting for my star...
cheers,
Cheryl
PS: Revisited my old xangas today. Good times. If you ever had one, go dig it up. You'd be amazed at how much you remember and how much you want to forget.
In Korean dramas you can frequently hear women asking their men to "하늘에서 별 따와." I never really understood what this meant or what significance it held in terms of a lasting relationship. I guess I still don't. "Fly me to the moon," as per Frank Sinatra, is understandable; afterall, we did "land" on the moon once before (although I'm a skeptic about this, I'll pretend to believe it for the purposes of this post). But "pick a star out of the sky"? How far-fetched is that? Asking your man to pick a star out of the sky for you is unreasonable, illogical, irrational, selfish, and all-around absurd. It sure sounds super romantic though, doesn't it?
Man: "What do you want me to do? I'll do anything."
Woman: "Really?"
Man: "Yes."
Woman: "Go pick a star out of the sky for me."
I'm assuming this phrase is the equivalent of "go to the ends of the earth for you" in English? It's funny because my church is called The Ends of the Earth Church (yeayea, everyone thinks it's a cult -.-), so I never considered going to the ends of the earth for anyone but Jesus. Speaking of Jesus, "Here In My Life" by Hillsong United is so incredibly touching. When I first heard it, it made me cry almost as much as the Lifehouse "Everything" skit did.
This post is becoming complicated. I won't bore the minimal number of readers I have with my random tangents. Anyway, back to my point (or lack thereof). I used to think I'd fall in love with one, and only one, person and live out this Korean drama-esque love story with him, probably picking multiple stars out of the sky along the way. A year ago, I might have even said I found him. Today, I laugh at how ridiculously infatuated I had been. Did I love him? Perhaps. Was I in love with him? I don't think so.
I still want to believe love comes once. 'Cus if I had really been in love, I don't know that I can ever fall out of it. (That was totally a Carrie Bradshaw moment. Love her; don't put it past me to post about her one day.)
In conclusion, I'm still waiting for my star...
cheers,
Cheryl
PS: Revisited my old xangas today. Good times. If you ever had one, go dig it up. You'd be amazed at how much you remember and how much you want to forget.
Monday, June 22, 2009
daddy loves burberry.
and i love daddy.
golfwear from burberry for daddy 2 years in a row.
hm.. next year, i'll have to switch it up a bit.
golf in the rain -- what a perfect father's day. ;)
I have a newfound obsession with golf. My parents registered me for a membership at a club last year, but I never bothered myself with petty things like golf. I was always too busy, too tired, too hot, etc. to play. All that has changed. Now, I'm determined to get really superduper amazing at golf. It doesn't hurt that I get to buy cute golf outifts either..........hehe.
Daddy's wish come true; he says it was the ideal Father's Day. It took 22 years, the year I graduated from college, for him to say that. Is it my fault it took so long? When life is kicking my ass and I just want to get away, I remind myself that there are 2 people to whom I owe everything. When I go home and see an extra wrinkle on my dad's face or an extra white hair on my mom's head, it dawns on me; my parents aren't going to be young forever. Neither am I.
22, you can take your time.
cheers,
Cheryl
golfwear from burberry for daddy 2 years in a row.
hm.. next year, i'll have to switch it up a bit.
golf in the rain -- what a perfect father's day. ;)
I have a newfound obsession with golf. My parents registered me for a membership at a club last year, but I never bothered myself with petty things like golf. I was always too busy, too tired, too hot, etc. to play. All that has changed. Now, I'm determined to get really superduper amazing at golf. It doesn't hurt that I get to buy cute golf outifts either..........hehe.
Daddy's wish come true; he says it was the ideal Father's Day. It took 22 years, the year I graduated from college, for him to say that. Is it my fault it took so long? When life is kicking my ass and I just want to get away, I remind myself that there are 2 people to whom I owe everything. When I go home and see an extra wrinkle on my dad's face or an extra white hair on my mom's head, it dawns on me; my parents aren't going to be young forever. Neither am I.
22, you can take your time.
cheers,
Cheryl
Friday, June 19, 2009
time flies.
i wish it would fly into a window
and just stop for a second
to let me breathe.
Clearly, I haven't been keeping up with this baby like I said I would in my last post. Apparently, I was going to post something on March 4th, alas, it is June 19th and here is my third post. Perhaps my lack of post-age (not like stamps) is due to the reason behind my revisit to this blog today. Regardless, forgive me babe, I'll be back again soon to fill you up with verbal goodies.
Lately, life has been running on a different track than what I'm accustomed to, and I just can't grab a hold of her. It's as if we're racing and I'm in lane 1 and she's in lane 2 and I'm running along behind her, reaching out to take control, but I'm always a fingertip short.
So I wake up one morning, and it's May 6th. Nice, I have a full week until graduation. Then I fall asleep one night, and my calendar reads "June 18, 2009." Where has the time gone? Why am I turning 22 in a month without having fully enjoyed 21?
Hey there blog, I'm going to really use you as a means of reflection now. 'Cus otherwise, I'm going to wake up tomorrow and be married with kids.
cheers,
Cheryl
PS: The new laptop is fab. Cant've asked for a better partner. We're in a heterosexual relationship now; more love than hate is much anticipated this time around.
and just stop for a second
to let me breathe.
Clearly, I haven't been keeping up with this baby like I said I would in my last post. Apparently, I was going to post something on March 4th, alas, it is June 19th and here is my third post. Perhaps my lack of post-age (not like stamps) is due to the reason behind my revisit to this blog today. Regardless, forgive me babe, I'll be back again soon to fill you up with verbal goodies.
Lately, life has been running on a different track than what I'm accustomed to, and I just can't grab a hold of her. It's as if we're racing and I'm in lane 1 and she's in lane 2 and I'm running along behind her, reaching out to take control, but I'm always a fingertip short.
So I wake up one morning, and it's May 6th. Nice, I have a full week until graduation. Then I fall asleep one night, and my calendar reads "June 18, 2009." Where has the time gone? Why am I turning 22 in a month without having fully enjoyed 21?
Hey there blog, I'm going to really use you as a means of reflection now. 'Cus otherwise, I'm going to wake up tomorrow and be married with kids.
cheers,
Cheryl
PS: The new laptop is fab. Cant've asked for a better partner. We're in a heterosexual relationship now; more love than hate is much anticipated this time around.
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