Thursday, July 30, 2009

quick thought #5

I love power and authority too much to be anything less than great.

What a dangerous statement.

the right to remain stupid.

anything and everything you say
will be ignored.

I was recently given a tee-shirt that reads, "You have the right to remain stupid. Everything you say can and will be ignored." When I first laid eyes on the shirt, I cracked up at its hilarity. Then, perhaps a tad more solemnly, I realized how accurately it reflected what I think about many people I meet/know (if you think you're included in this group, you probably are; fix yourself--haha, semi-jk).

Now, I'm not trying to be all snooty and pretend like I'm some super intellectual scholarly-type, because I'm totally not, but, I am saying that too many young people nowadays lack common sense and/or tact. I can't count how many times I overhear something on the street and think to myself, "wtf." I also can't count how many times an acquaintance says something to me and I think to myself, "why am I friends with you again?" I am not going to give examples because the people I give examples of may read this (is anyone reading this, anyway?) and do something harsh to me in retaliation such as, de-friend me on Facebook. Eep. Anything but that, please! In all seriousness though, is it so hard to carry on a thoughtful sensible conversation? It doesn't even have to be thoughtful--can we try slightly amusing or enjoyable? C'mon people, it's the 21st fricking century. Why is it that while technology is improving everso rapidly, our ability to compose an intellectual or semi-stimulating thought from the natural juices of our entirely capable brains is shot?

I don't like stupid questions and I despise stupid answers. I'll be the first to admit that I ask A LOT of questions. I'm just a curious-ass person. But my questions make sense in the context of the conversation. What I mean by a "stupid question" is this:

Friend 1: Hey, so after I have dinner I'll meet you at the fountain in Washington Square Park.
Friend 2: Oh okay, but isn't it broken?
Friend 1: ...............SO???

This is precisely what I mean by a stupid question. What compels someone to ask such a thing? What the moly hell does the fountain being broken or perfectly functional have anything to do with meeting there? Is the fountain going to magically disappear or transport itself if its broken? Or, does my asking you to meet me at the fountain somehow imply that I want you to don a swimming suit and prance in the water flowing from it? If the fountain is broken, does that disenable us in any way from planning a rendezvous there? Do enlighten me; is there something I'm missing? This conversation isn't completely made-up. I have reluctantly engaged myself in such a conversation and afterwards, proceeded to bang my head against a wall repeatedly. An even worse scenario is this:

Friend 1: Wow, I am soaked! It's raining like crazy!
Friend 2: Oh, were you outside?
Friend 1: No, idiot, I wasn't outside. I just decided to take a shower with all my clothes on and pretend like I got rained on to help you find it in yourself to say something intelligent for once, but obviously, my plan backfired and I just ruined an expensive shirt.

I'm already pissed that I'm soaking wet, and meanwhile, toasty dry YOU ask me something incredulous like above. Really, I find myself wanting to shake people and scream, "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEEEANNN!!!???" on many occasions.

Tactlessness also drives me nuts. If you're going to say something dumb, at least be tactful about it. Then again, that's probably asking too much from someone without a single working brain cell. In Korean, I'd say tact is synonymous to "noonchi." Well, they're slightly different but I won't go into the differences here; take my word for it and consider them one and the same for now. Personally, I like the Korean word better. People without tact or noonchi are in my "top 5 most annoying types of people" list. Okay, I don't really have such a list, but maybe it's about time I made one. It may aide me in recognizing and avoiding this particularly inapt breed of human beings in the future. Actually, I know someone who is quite tactless in everything he says, but for some reason, it works in his favor. At first, I was extremely taken aback by his tactlessness. His random outbursts found me speechless on many accounts. After a while though, it started getting pretty funny and endearing. Now I truly believe his tactlessness makes up most of his charm. I guess there's an exception to every rule, eh?

I could and probably would elaborate more on this altogether fascinating topic, but it is 2:45am and I am getting increasingly frustrated just thinking about all the "you have the right to remain stupid" moments I have endured in my life. Also, I am tired.

You know, maybe it's just me. Maybe I have a problem. Maybe these people are smart and I am the one who is stupid and bitter because I am not as smart. Maybe.

Maybe not.

Cheers,

Cheryl

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

quick thought #4

My mouth is my most powerful weapon and my greatest liability.

I realize this more and more each day. Know what I mean?

Cheers,

Cheryl

Monday, July 27, 2009

what's for dinner?

a FAQ.

Living with 2 girlfriends who also come home from work too tired to cook has made me/us prone to eat leftovers, take-out, and eat out.

Thus, I have a collection of business cards from a jillion restaurants and bars that I will proceed to Yelp! about. Check it out: cherylwrites.yelp.com

Muhaha. I had 13 cases sitting on my desk today at work, waiting to receive my tender loving care and attention, but I Yelped instead! (Just kidding- I am still at work at 6:45, trudging through this mound of legal docs....sigh.)

Cheers,

Cheryl

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

classy people.

my office is full of them.

"I'm going to poo all over my hands and wipe them on your desk!"

There is a sign in the women's bathroom at my firm that reminds us to employ proper bathroom etiquette. The sign says things such as "flush" and "throw paper towels in trash bin, not in the toilet (or on the floor)" and "wash your hands." A really classy coworker of mine drew the above picture on the sign. I find this hilarious every time I utilize this particular stall so I had to take a picture. Someone (probably the same witty person who drew that stick figure) also wrote "duh" underneath "wash your hands." I guess working countless hours on tedious personal injury cases makes people particularly crass. I wonder what the other ladies in the restroom were thinking when they heard the shutter on my cameraphone go off... how embarrassing.

Cheers,

Cheryl

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

lingers on me now.

i associate everything and everyone with a smell.
every pungent, aromatic, crisp, and savory scent
lingers on me, with me, within me.

I am a proud owner of what's called a "cyworld." As you can assume from the name, this is an internet website, originating from the motherland, where you can create a mini-homepage (nicknamed a "mini-hompy") complete with a gallery of pictures, a diary, a jukebox, a visitor's page, and even a little avatar of yourself that you can dress up! It's the best online social site I've ever come across--it's really too bad America hasn't caught on to all the hype.

Anyway, when I first opened up my cyworld, I was excited to explore all the ways through which I could let my "ihl-chon"s (cyworld friends-concept similar to that of Myspace friends) know all about me. I was eager to make my cyworld the ultimate queen of cyworlds in content, looks, and essence. To accomplish this, I would have to check out the competition. While visiting other people's mini-hompys, I realized people did this thing where they would upload an abstract picture (supposedly representing themselves) and beneath the picture, they wrote a list of phrases and words that described them. I saw this and figured, why not? So I searched google and daum and some other search engines until I found the quintessential image of Cheryl Kim's being. I won't reveal what that picture was here.

Following the paradigm set by my fellow cyworld-ers, I started to jot down clever little terms that captured who I was (rather, who I wanted my digital followers think I was). Among these phrases, which included things such as "pho" and "sexy marc jacobs" and "long showers," and "broadway shows," and "toes in the sand," I had written "smelling the world." I was in 10th or 11th grade when I wrote this so I'm not quite sure what I was thinking then in reference to these three words. Today, as a 22-year-old and in grade infinity, I want to give my 16-year-old self a pat on the back. "Smelling the world" is the essence of Cheryl Kim.

I smell everything. My parents always yell at me for sniffing at my food before I take a bite. I sniff new clothes as soon as I bring them home. I sniff all shampoos and bodywashes thoroughly before I purchase them. It took me 3 years to find a new signature scent. If someone near me smells good, I'll make an effort to go to them or have them come to me to sniff them out. No object within my vicinity leaves unsniffed. When Carrie said she loved the smell of old library books in the SATC Movie, I completely knew what she was talking about (I know, I know, another SATC reference.. I love her, what can I tell ya?). If I've smelled you before, I will most likely associate your presence with that particular smell every single time I see you. I will most likely anticipate your smell even before you come near me. If I remember you smelling like sweet honey, I will probably take a few steps towards you. If I remember you smelling like crap, I will most likely take a step away even before you get within 10 feet of me.

Almost everything has a highly distinctive smell and I appreciate all these smells--good or bad. I know my dog's poo is going to smell, but I'll sniff it out anyway. I know my tutee's breath stinks, but I'll see if it smells anyway. I just can't help it. All smells are important to me because each smell is a memory. Each smell is a person, a thing, a thought. I have to know what everything smells like; regretting comes after the fact. Even if I can't verbalize to you what something smells like, rest assured that I will have the smell in my head.

If I tell you you smell like something or someone, take it for truth. If I tell you something smells like something or someone, take it for truth. If I smell something once, it lingers with me and on me for a very, very long time.

The strongest out of the 5; my sense of smell cannot be beat.

Cheers,

Cheryl

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

beat the clock.

i thought 'young' ended at 21.
i'm officially 22 now and still feeling young.
aging is truly a race against time.

It was my birthday last Wednesday, the 15th of July. I rocked out my hardest every day of last week because I thought 22 was the age where you sort of have to let go of your raging days and embrace the comfort of knowing you're a little too old and a little too "mature" to be going out celebrating rockstardom. Today is Monday and I am at my desk at work going over every glorious moment of the week-long celebration of my birth. My friends and I like to call this a "birthweek." It went as such:

Tuesday, the day before my actual birthday, my co-workers had a surprise birthday for me and some other July babies in the office. It was endearing. At night, my ladyfriends and I went to a few bars (got a free round of patron from my fav. bartender!) and the night ended with my overworked friend Jiin, who got off work right before midnight, surprising me and bringing cake as soon as the clock struck 12am. They even played the fobby cheery techno version of "Happy Birthday" at the place we were at. Strangers clapped for me. It was cute. My friends are amazing.

Wednesday, my actual birthday, my 3 closest friends took me to 1 If By Land 2 If By Sea for a birthday dinner. It was romantic and I love them. We walked out of the restaurant to bump into 4 puppies. None of them had leashes on but all of them were extremely well-trained. We played with them and chatted with their owner, this sweet old man, for a good 30 minutes. I fell in love with Charlie, the pomeranian. He was beautiful.

Thursday, the day after my birthday, my roommates and I went to The Oak Room at The Plaza Hotel for yet another lovely dinner. I must say, it was one of the best dinners I have ever had. We then went to another bar for some drinks and somehow ended up at a club, where we were offered a free table and bottle. Sigh, the night ended in mayhem.

Friday was my official Black & White birthday party at The Cabanas at The Maritime Hotel. The venue was an open rooftop so it was awesome that it started raining around 9pm. The North side of the venue was covered and very spacious so everything worked out pretty well. I wouldn't recommend this place to anyone for a party though. The doorman was the most self-important bastard I have ever met. He was trying to pull off that whole grungy LES hipster look but failed miserably. He DID, however, look like a beggar I had seen in the streets a few hours before. He wouldn't let my guests in because it was "packed" and because he had too many "private events." I told him to shove it and got everyone in. I don't remember all the details of the night though, so it was a pretty successful party, I'd say.

Saturday was supposed to be a ladies night out at this club my friends and I practically own, but we were all various forms of dead so we had a quiet night of sake-bombing. HAHA! Jk, I didn't, but they did. :)

In honor of the hot chaos that was my birthweek, I will go straight home after work today, cook some dinner, watch a movie, clean my room, and go to bed early. Do it up 22 year-old-style. In conclusion, I've definitely learned 2 valuable things as a result of my birthday shenanigans: 1) my body cannot handle excessive amounts of raging anymore and 2) I definitely have the best friends ever. Here's a little twist to the song "Milkshake" by Kelis in tribute to my insanely fabulous friends: "and i'm like, they're better than yours, damn right. they're better than yours." My friends are better than yours. HAHA!

All in all, I had a great birthweek. It was the craziest one yet and I will continue to give my age a run for its money. I hope I can turn 30 and still be able to say that I had an eventful birthweek. I am forever going to beat this darned clock.

Cheers,

A newly 22 Cheryl

ps: This post says it was published on July 14th. Weird. I think I started a post on that date and saved it and edited it to be this current post. Go figure.

Friday, July 10, 2009

dance in the desert.

can you?
without hesitation, my answer is "yes."

G-chat, the convenient chatting function on G-mail, is truly the one thing I cannot bear to be without at work. Through all the dry legal document review, G-chat is there to bring me news from the outside world via my fellow dying-at-work friends. So I guess it's not really news from the outside world... just chitter-chatter from other offices around Manhattan, harhar. Anyway, while Twitter is all the rage lately, I have managed to remain true to my G-chat status updates. I say, who needs Twitter when I have G-chat statuses?

I love G-chat statuses and I think they're super fun to read. Whoever has G-chat but doesn't have a semi-interesting status should get off G-chat. One friend in particular, who is currently studying to take the bar, always has pretty good ones. Recently, her status took a break from elaborating on the painful process of studying 10+ hours (or some other ridiculous amount) a day, to read, "Can you dance in the desert?" This phrase hasn't left my mind since I read it so I thought to myself, blog-time!

The origin of this question comes from a sermon that a guest speaker gave at my church a few weeks ago. I'll be honest and admit that I don't remember what this question was in reference to at the time. But wouldn't you like to know what I take from it? :)

So, my friend got back from Las Vegas recently and told me it was above 100 degrees everyday. This, ladies and gents, is what the desert is like. Too hot to tan, too dry to walk, let alone, dance. In a barren land of sand, heat, and cacti, no one in their right mind would venture outside of the air-conditioned casinos to brave the unbearable outdoors. I think this idea applies to a lot of situations in life. Giving up something comfortable to willingly engage in an activity of severe discomfort is definitely not appealing. So, how far would one go to disengage themselves from what they're accustomed to, to seek after a new experience? No matter the pain involved?

If the goal is something I'm extremely passionate about, I think I'd dance in the desert. I mean, I hate running on a treadmill in the gym, but that's because I know I have other means of losing the weight. I also believe in the security that I look okay without losing the weight immediately (bad example, but it's all I could think of right now, forgive me). However, if I was in a circumstance where no other options were given to me other than removing myself from my present situation to attain something of great value, I can dance. I can rock the eff out.

Now, bringing this question of dancing in the desert back to my faith, I don't know that I've been dancing hard enough or even at all. I want so badly to say that I can. But you know, the real question lies in the tricky little word, "would." Not can I, but would I dance in the desert for God? I've been so stagnant for so long and while knowing this, I haven't really done anything about it. Like the losing weight example, I know in my heart that He will love me regardless of my faults and forgive me of my sins unconditionally. Because I know this, I've been crawling along unable to walk, unable to run, unable to dance.

My Christianity is not the only thing this idea applies to. I have confidence that I can dance... in clubs. And that's about the only dancing I've been doing lately. If I learned to truly dance in the desert in all aspects of my life, I'd be on top of this fricking world. So I've come to the conclusion that from this point on, not only can I, but I would. No, I will.

Will you?

Cheers,

Cheryl

Monday, July 6, 2009

hello, bartender.

the evolution of a crush.

I didn't mean for this blog to be as cliche as it seems. Someone told me that while entertaining, my blog didn't possess an element of surprise--a morsel of intrigue leaving the reader with double the thoughts s/he came with, and triple the yearn to come back. I don't know if I ever intended for my blog to be super thought-provoking in the first place, regardless, the comment got me thinking. Which is why this post is going to be about the most cliche of all cliches: a 20-something year-old girl living in New York City crushing on a bartender at a bar she frequents.

Sound familiar, much? Is blogging about this crush an even more extreme cliche? Am I mirroring my lifestyle to that of...*drumroll*... Carrie Bradshaw?! Shoot, if that means I'll end up with my own steaming real-life Mr. Big living in a penthouse apartment with a closet big enough to house all the beggars and bums in New York, then hell yea!

Just (half) kidding.

Now that I've digressed light-years from the focal point of this post, let me bring you back to it. Hello, bartender. Just for the record, I am surrendering my "cool" card to be a complete loser right now. Openly discussing my attraction to a bartender who doesn't know I exist is pretty substantial grounds for "loser" status, I'd say. So, the bar in question is a place where my entourage and I go on Tuesdays for happy hour. They have this great special (which isn't so great anymore actually, so now I have to find other innovative reasons to keep going to this lame bar) that brings in hordes of different types of people. Needless to say, I have been going to this bar for the Tuesday specials long enough to know the demographics of the crowd, and I'm jaded. A girlfriend and I decided against the special and just sat at the bar one day, away from the throng of beer, wine, chicken and donkatsu-stuffed people.

This is the precise moment at which he caught my eye. While my girlfriend chatted away about her off-again on-again boyfriend and the present status of their relationship, I couldn't help but stare at this new bartender. Never have I seen him before, and never have my eyes been so delightfully satisfied by a male specimen. I won't go into the details of what he looks like, but if you're curious, go the the 3rd floor of the building on the southeast corner of 32nd street and 5th avenue. You will find my ideal (looks-wise) man behind the bar there. How tacky and shallow of me does that sound? Whatever. I haven't been physically attracted to a guy in about 4 years and this bartender epitomizes "physical attraction." Hello, bartender.

After burning holes in him with my eyes for an hour, I realized that I wasn't able to muster up the courage to actually talk to him. Even ordering drinks from him was a task that took encouragement from my friend. It was awkward and uncomfortable for me because I'm usually pretty good at chatting up men, goodlooking or not. I don't get nervous or shy or anxious. Ever. But this was the first time in a very long time that someone made me feel this way merely by his looks. Seriously, if someone were to tell me to draw my ideal guy (again, we're only talking physical appearance here, people) and I possessed any artistic talent, I imagine I would've drawn a rough sketch of this fellow. After seeing him at work behind the bar, I saw him again at a club. Then on the subway. Then again at the bar. Then again at the bar. Coincidence? Of course not. Stalker? Maybe.

Okay, I'm really kidding. Let me regain my dignity for a second. This is how a crush typically starts. It sounds so childish and inane but that's the beauty of it. As long as you tell yourself not to have expectations and to keep the crushin' at a light level, it'll forever remain as a teenyweeny butterfly fluttering around in your stomach somewhere. In my case, this bartender is not someone I would ever pursue so I know the butterfly will flutter on out of my stomach one day and I can get back on my way to finding not another crush, but a husband. HAHA! -.-

I found myself at this bar again last night for their Tuesday special. To make a long story short, Mr. Bartender and I know each other's names now. And that's all I need and all you need to know.

Cheers,

Cheryl

Thursday, July 2, 2009

quick thought #3

I love it when things make sense.

I refuse to delve deeper into this thought. Take it for what it is.

love tokens.

came across this book at work one day.
i work at a law firm, so how this book got on our shelves,
i don't know.

I watched the beginning of "Sex & The City: The Movie" (my favoritEST movie of all time) during my lunch break yesterday. By the time I was done with my shumai, I had watched up to the part where Carrie gets in bed with Mr. Big and reads him excerpts from her library book, Love Letters of Great Men. A few weeks ago, I found a similar book, Love Tokens, at my office and had jotted down a few memorable quotes from it onto a post-it. I thought I lost the post-it and along with it, some fine romantic sayings, and was devastated. However, I found that post-it tucked in between 2 business cards in my overflowing wallet today. Eureka! Let me share these quotes with you:

"kiss me quick, and don't be shy,
for you love kissing, dear,
as well as I."

"then in his arms he will clasp me
and I for him will live-
though for him I could die,
what a sweet world is this!
now I have found what it is-
love it is-
makes it go round."

"a simple ring with a simple stone,
to the vulgar eye, no stone of price.
whisper the right word, that alone-
forth starts a sprite, like fire from ice."

"love may be given, love may be spoken,
but I seek a love that is sealed with a token.
a locket, a ring, or a fine precious stone,
and then will I know, that your love is my own."

-Love Tokens, by Julia Jones & Kenneth Ames

You have to read them a couple of times over. Damnit, I want to fall in love.

Cheers,

Cheryl

quick thought #2

My mind is constantly churning out ideas, thoughts, opinions, etc. to write about in this lil' ole blog. Every minute of every hour is bloggable to me and I don't want to let a single moment of my life slip away without first having been electronically inputted into this blog. Since the day before yesterday, I've had about 7 blogibilities (as in, "possibilities"), but not a single one of them appears on my blog today. In fact, I can't even recall any of these then-seemingly riveting thoughts. But see, that's the great thing about wanting to keep a blog alive; you, in a sense, unconsciously force imagination and creativity upon yourself throughout the day. Does this make sense?

So here's to all my dead, but once fascinating, ideas.
May you Blog In Peace.


A sidenote: Here's to the coming of JULY--the best month of the year. A long Independence Day weekend and the birth of yours truly; what a cute little month. <3