big strong men.

are definitely,
angels sent from heaven on moving day.

I have to be completely moved-out of my current apartment by tomorrow. I am moving from the Financial District to the East Village (not too far of a move), but it is still the biggest struggle all the same. Beds, dressers, desks, sofas, TVs--these are some of the pretty average items we (my female roommate and I) had to move. Luckily for us, we have some big, strong, pretty awesome men in our lives, willing to share this struggle with us.

My boyfriend, my roommate's older brother and his friend did everything. My roommate and I just sat around, watching the cars, looking pretty. They were hungry, tired, sweaty, sore, and pretty pissed off, but spent a good 5 hours moving all our furniture using a pick-up truck. My new apartment doesn't even have elevators so you can imagine what they had to go through. I am everso grateful and utterly indebted to you, men. Much, much love and many, many thanks.

At least you got a work-out out of it?

Cheers,

Cheryl

jjank accents.

where there are jjanks,
there are bound to be jjank accents.

The corporate team at our law firm does a lot of work with businesses in China so we have a good number of Chinese attorneys at our firm. Only one of them speaks English without a Chinese accent and the others all talk like they work at #1 Noodle House or Lo Mein Fo Yu. Every. single. one. of. them.

I cannot deal.

An attorney just asked me to draft 13 cover letters and it took me about 25 minutes to fully comprehend what he needed done. 15 minutes to make sense of his horrible English and another 10 minutes to get over the shock of how long his effing nails are. Maybe I should leave a nail-clipper on his desk tomorrow morning. Is that rude?

I hate jjank accents. I'm sorry but I really, really do.

Cheers,

Cheryl

saying farewell to nyc.

oh, heavens no! not me!
only a few of my dear friends... :(

My close girlfriends and I all went to New York University and we wholly embrace New York City in all its glory and glamour to the fullest. I'd say the 5+ years spent in the Big Apple during our late teens and early twenties have definitely molded us into strong, fearless, wild New Yorkers. That being said, I never even dreamed of any one of us ever leaving.

Alas, two of us have. LP and JY. We (myself, the other girls, and NYC) will miss you dearly.

LP has moved her dog-lovin' ice-princess self over to Salt Lake City, Utah from the iron-grip of the Financial District in Manhattan, to join the Mormonic boys and gals over at the GS office there. And JY has uprooted her bohemian tush, along with her bubbling hyperactive personality, from the hustle-bustle of Union Square and will be living amongst the quiet folk of a small suburb in Maryland. I shed quite a few tears and really don't look forward to shedding any more.

WHAT IS GOING ON?! Why are some of my dearest friends leaving me and leaving New York City?! This entry makes me feel especially like Carrie Bradshaw when Miranda relocates to Brooklyn or when Samantha relocates to California (I think it's because I've been watching SATC reruns due to the fact that I've lost cable connection at my apartment). We're still young and still dreamin'... why can't our dreams stay where they started?

I guess I'm just glad none of these moves are permanent. I can only hope the rest of you stay.

Cheers,

Cheryl

minorities at bergdorf.

at least, in their men's department.

My boyfriend is a fashionisto and loves to check out the new items at Bergdorf Goodman from time to time. I accompanied him on this particularly gay hobby of his yesterday and overheard the most interesting conversation. A slightly pudgy short man (latino or mexican) was looking through leather belts marked "50% off," dressed in clothes fit for a beggar. His dirty worn cap and sneakers looked like Nike merchandise from the 80's (don't get me wrong; trends from the 80's are coming back now, but his stuff looked like they had been worn every single day from 1980 - 2010.) The Bergdorf's salesman, however, had on an impeccable, navy, 3-piece suit with cuff links that'd make both Diddy and Donald Trump proud, and a pair of sepia-colored loafers with a matching belt. Their interaction went something like this:

Latino Man (in a heavy accent, holding a belt): What kind of shoes you think would go with this belt?
Salesman (in a humored, slightly degrading tone): Well, it's a black belt so black shoes would go with it.
Latino Man: So, black shoes with this belt?
Salesman: Yes, I mean, you wear a black belt, you have to get black shoes. If you wear a brown belt, brown shoes. The shoes should match the belt.
Latino Man: So, it wouldn't matter if the shoes were Gucci? What if they were Gucci?
Salesman: What do you mean? It doesn't matter where they're from, as long as they complement each other.
Latino Man: I asked a simple question; just because I'm dressed like this today, don't assume I can't dress or don't know a thing or two about clothes.
Salesman: I'm sure you do sir; you asked me what shoes went with that belt so I was just saying that the shoes need to match the belt in color.
Latino Man (walking away): You'll see, I'll show you. I got better shoes than yours- don't worry.
Salesman: I'm sure you do, have a good day. (looks at a fellow salesman and smirks)

I was appalled! The same salesman was as kind as can be to my boyfriend (who was dressed to the nine's) a minute earlier but did a complete 360 when engaging with this man.

I haven't really had any horror stories with rude salespeople personally (except for this one time when a saleswoman at David Yurman at Saks wouldn't show me the rings I wanted to see with the quickness--but that might've been because I was badgering her when she was trying to lock everything up to close, whoops) so I was disgusted to witness the belittling way this particularly greased-up salesman treated his customer. 50% off belt or not, run-down Nike gear or not, that is absolutely no way to talk to a paying customer! I don't care if you work at Bergdorf's or Kmart, you do not speak to someone like that when you are in a position of service! How rude! Salespeople at Bergdorf Goodman, Saks Fifth Avenue, even Bloomingdale's sometimes, can be picky about whom they serve and how they serve them and while I understand why they practice their trade in this fashion, the upper echelons of management at these major shopping institutions need to train their employees to treat all customers as one and the same.

As much as I am furious and ranting about this particular incident, I am guilty of the same sort of judgment. Today, I walked past the Four Seasons hotel near my office and saw an overweight, unkempt, African-American woman standing by the doorway, dressed in a Hane's t-shirt and brown sweats carrying both a Balenciaga Giant Weekender bag and a Momogrammed Goyard tote. I had to do a double-take because the woman just wasn't the type of person I'd seen get into the likes of some of the world's most expensive cars (Maybachs, Mercedes-Benz's, Bentleys, etc.) at the back entrance of the Four Seasons. Just when I was kicking myself in the arse for being so judgmental upon appearance, a sassy lady with highlights in her hair, wearing a bright floral dress, Chanel flats, and a straw sombrero like the ones you see the Housewives of NY wear to the Derby, sashayed her way out onto the street from inside the hotel. The African-American woman followed suit and loaded the bags into the trunk of a limo as the straw sombrero lady got into the backseat of the car. I had to wonder at the horribly cliche situation. Of COURSE she was someone's personal assistant. The situation proved my biases and judgment right. I didn't feel good about it.

Going through experiences like these back-to-back really made me think. In a city that thrives on the love of labels and judges based on appearance, it's easy to feel small, unimportant, and ugly. When you're not an attractive leggy blonde with a Cartier watch on your wrist, it's even easier. In a city as diverse as mine, minorities still have to try harder to stand out and command the respect we are due. Don't believe me? Take a bunch of Asians to a club in the Meatpacking District (without having to spend thousands); now, watch the group of overly made-up, yappy, "hot," white girls get into the club hours before the Asians do (mind you, they may never get in). Or take a couple of Hispanic women to Saks and see if they receive the same treatment when they are dressed down with no flashy baubles in sight, as when they are dressed-up carrying Birkins.

Is my lengthly point hitting home at all? Man.

The most frustrating thing is that while experiencing this and ranting about wanting to rebel against the system, wanting to just be like EFF YOU, I WEAR/DO WHAT I WANT AND YOU WILL STILL TREAT ME EQUALLY, I will still don my most expensive pieces of clothing and accessories when I know I'm going to a place where I will be judged based on appearance.

Perhaps it is because I do a lot of judging myself, that I feel so judged.

Cheers,

Cheryl

quick thought #13.

(I had to do it--label this, that is--it's become a habit! T.T)


What if I, plain & simple, just don't want to?

keeping it simple.

never underestimate simple.
short & sweet is always good.

I post "quick thoughts" as separate entities from my other entries. Why? I don't really know. I guess I don't deem them worthy of being real full posts so I felt the need to label them, sort of as a disclaimer, before I posted them. I guess I just thought my "real" posts had to be long-winded and explore some seemingly profound thought or idea to deserve recognition as a blog entry.

I am now just realizing how silly I've been.

So for the first time, voila! A quick thought with a title.

As well as a picture (pretty rare to find these in my entries, but I figure oh hell, why not. Let's turn over several new leaves while I'm at it!):


I need me these shoes. Especially in the summer. Especially when I get a fierce new pedicure but my outfit calls for closed-toe shoes. Gawd, this is genius.

Also, please behold:

The Hermes Medor watch (it's killing me that I cannot put the appropriate accents in place). Forget Michele, forget Cartier, forget Rolex, forget Chopard, forget all my ideal sought-after watches. This watch kicks them all to the curb. Hard.

Finally, my lesbian crush (or fashion idol perhaps?):

The always impeccable Anna Dello Russo (Fashion Director/Editor-at-Large at Vogue Nippon and Fashionista Brilliantaire) in the middle with her posse. Mind you, they are all at the Moncler show in Milan wearing matching Prada chandelier heels. Note the green scheme as well, ladies & gents. Gawd, I cannot deal with the beauty of it all.

This post was fun; I feel like a new woman! Oh, and my blog also recently underwent a major facelift.

Enjoy!

Cheers,

Cheryl

quick thought #12.

I have always, always, for the past 23 years, known it to be "crept up" and not "cropped up."

When something or someone suddenly appears or suddenly comes up, I've always used the phrase, "crept up."

Ex1) "OMG, his birthday totally crept up on me; I didn't even get him a gift!"
Ex2) "I didn't see her coming; she crept up out of nowhere!"

Or if you wanna get more fancy,

Ex3) "The blistering sun crept up on the oblivious snowmen and devoured them whole."

Anyway, lately, I have been seeing the phrase "cropped up" used in the same way in various blogs, the book I'm reading, and even the NYTimes!

When did this change happen?! Why was I not alerted?! Or have I been using the incorrect phrase for the past 23 years?!

I am thoroughly confused.

boys: a collection, pt. 2

welcome back.

I left you off with Middle School BF aka "Bottle One." We'll continue our journey with High School Boyfriend #1.

3) High School Boyfriend #1: There is not too much to say about this one actually. I was new to my high school, fresh off the boat from Korea, and didn't have many friends. High School BF #1 was one of the, if not the most, popular guys in my grade (his crew of friends even named themselves after him), and he let it be known that he thought the new girl (lil' ole me) was cute. I first met him in Spanish class and thought he was one of those super KP, full-of-crap types. I got to know him, however, and he turned out to be the funniest kid ever. He asked me out during lunch one day and I said "yes," to which he replied, "really?! thank you!" He had braces and a mole on his lip at the time (yes, he got them BOTH removed (fyi: this description makes him sound disgusting, but he's really not)) but he picked me up and walked me to class every day and was really quite sweet. He told me he loved me after a day or two of dating and I told him to shut up and never say that again. I was his first GF so I was more experienced in the love department, I guess. I broke it off after about three months, probably because I was still hung up on BF #2, but we remained friends. He is, surprisingly, actually the only BF that I sometimes wonder, "what if...?" about.

4) High School Boyfriend #2: The "church oppa." Man. I'm sure a lot of once young, Korean, youth group attending, Christian girls have had one of these. Mine was new to our youth group his Senior year in high school, but somehow managed to win over the hearts of our youth group members and secured the YG President spot within a month of attending our church. I was a Sophomore and three years younger than him. The flirting started at a retreat (surprise surprise) and another church oppa actually sort-of hooked us up. He asked me out on the playground. He was sweet and we dated for almost a year, then broke-up because he went off to college and it just wasn't working out. He lives in Chicago now but still visits our church from time to time.

5) High School Flings #1 & #2: I'm just gonna bunch these fellas up. These guys were both dudes in the "crew" that I mentioned BF #3 being the "leader" of. HS Fling #1 was actually someone I could've potentially really dated, but fate didn't have it that way, I guess. I don't really remember what went wrong..... anyway. He and I really really clicked and he probably doesn't know it, but the conversations and memories I had with him are, to this day, some of my fondest memories of High School. He is also someone I kind of have a soft spot for; he was really just a thoughtful, witty, and genuinely awesome and talented person. I don't see HS Fling #1 very often, but I wish we were still close friends. HS Fling #2 was just random and dumb. I am still good friends with him so I'm sorry to say this, but I don't really remember much except him wearing way too much Aqua Di Gio all the time. Oh, actually, my then-best friend and I had a huge falling-out, sort of indirectly because of him, but that was dumb too. It was cute and fun while it lasted and that's pretty much it. Sorry HS Fling #2! :(

6) College Boyfriend: I dated one guy all throughout college and it was the biggest waste of time and a huge mistake. Okay, that's really harsh. I believe I've blogged about him before but basically, I was blinded by something and just couldn't snap out of it quickly enough. It was an exceptionally tumultuous relationship that ended in the most explosive, emotional, and dramatic way. He is a good person and really treated me like a queen, but there were just too many complicated issues in his life. I think I'm still coming to terms with what happened between me and him, but I'm happy to say that I'm almost at a place where I can wish him the best and hope he does the same for me.

7) Post-College Boyfriend: This is my current boyfriend (and the bartender that I've mentioned in previous posts). All I can say is that he is the most wonderful man I have ever known (after my daddy, of course). Everyday, I reveal a new layer of him, a new side that I love even more than the previous and everyday, I hope it never ends. I'm scared and excited to see what the future holds in store for us, but I am also just thoroughly enjoying the love and affection he pours out on me in the present. So cheesy, so cliche, I know, but he is truly perfect. I still pinch myself every morning to make sure that it wasn't all a dream and that he is really, truly, mine.

Well, there you have it. Cheryl's collection of boys. What I thought might be a frivolous and slightly pointless entry really had me smiling, chuckling, even tearing at various moments while I typed. Oh, the memories...

Here's to the beauty of recollection.

Cheers,

Cheryl

boys: a collection.

boysboys,
sometimes they're toys,
sometimes they're... just plain annoying.

My lovely roomie 4 lyfe, Judith, recently posted an entry on her blog outlining all her past relationships and not-so-relationships. Needless to say, she has inspired me to do the same.

My love-life thus far has been pretty average with some dramatic kicks here and there. Let's take a trip down memory lane shall we...

There was the 5th grade boyfriend with whom I held hands and slow-danced, the middle school boyfriend with whom I also held hands and kissed on the cheek, the high school boyfriend #1 with whom I held hands and... (these descriptions will end here), the high school boyfriend #2, the high school fling #1, the high school fling #2, the college boyfriend, and the post-college boyfriend with whom I am currently madly in love.

1) 5th Grade "BF": It was pretty serious. At Camp Mason, we slow-danced and this other fool who also had a crush on me whined and cried so my BF almost beat him up. Some real romantic stuff going on here, folks. There were 3 guys named "Alex" in the 5th grade back then: Alex Rallo, Alex Perez, and Alex Chung. Youuu guessed it! I dated Alex Perez. Just kidding, my BF was the Korean one, Alex Chung. This was during a time when calling boys by their last name was cool, so I always called him "Chung." Also, I needed a way to differentiate him from the other Alex's. 5th Grade BF was a slightly chubby tan kid with a cute lisp and he had the coolest mushroom haircut in all of the 5th grade. He also kicked the ball the farthest when we played kickball during recess. We never really broke up- just sort of moved onto the 6th grade, I think. No wait nvm, he left our school and started attending the rich private school in my town and became a douchebag who hung out with the likes of Paris Hilton wannabes vacationing in the Hamptons. 5th grade BF went from being a chubby tan kid to being the lean, tan, Asian kid on the football team who all the hot white girls wanted. Damnit, I knew I should've gone to that private school... ANYWAY. We still talk here and there and keep saying we should meet up but never have and probably never will.

2) Middle School BF: I guess you can say this was my first real relationship with a post-pubescent boy (really though, how post-pubescent is 7th grade, huh?) Interestingly enough, he was a native Korean boy I met during my 1 and a half year stay in Korea. I guess I had a thing for FOBs ever since. Most of my close friends know the story about "Bottle One." I won't re-tell the entire story here, due to the high risk of eyeball-blood vessel-burstage from staring at the monitor for too long. It went something like this: love at first sight-he didn't know me/didn't give 2 sh*ts about me-I made myself known-he dumps his then girlfriend (who happened to become one of my closest friends; yea I don't know how that happened either)-he asks me out in what I thought was the hottest way ever (he had his cronies call me up to the top floor of my school and was leaning his elbows against the window sill when I walked upstairs and all he said was "yah, na rang sa gwee ja." which basically roughly translates to, "hey, date me." *DROOL*)-we have this insanely romantic and dramatic puppy/first-love type dating experience-I move to a different school-relationship falters-we break up-I move to America suddenly-I visit Korea/him a year later and we are still very much in puppy-love aaaand I can't get over him for jillions of years after until I met College Boyfriend. The end.

I need a break. This is too much for me to handle all at once. Go grab yourself a diet coke and a bag of popcorn and we'll rendez-vous in 10.

To be continued...

Cheers,

Cheryl

turned 23.

and feeling a world of a difference.

After a birthday passes, everyone always asks the same repetitive question: "Hey! So how does it feel to be __?" I've been asked this question several times now and have provided my interrogators with the same repetitive lie: "Same old! Not much different from 22!"

Again, I've lied.

To be quite honest (not so much with others, rather, with myself), I feel really really really different. I feel old. I feel young. I feel worn. I feel unworn. I feel tired. I feel excited. I feel happy. I feel like something's missing. I feel like I'm going to ride on the wings of my dreams and fly into infinity and beyond (sidenote: I really need to watch Toy Story 3) but I also feel l ike I am going to spin head first into the wallowing darkness of my fears.

But mostly, I feel "geubhae." In English, I guess this is best translated as, "rushed." I feel a great urgency to do something monumental at 23 years of age yet, I am still doing the same mediocre things. I mean, I can't say that I'm living a life of mediocrity because working and living in, unbiasedly, the most amazing city in the world is far from mediocrity, but maybe I am just not living this un-mediocre lifestyle to the fullest?

A lot has changed since the post I wrote when I turned 22. Unlike my 22nd birthday, I didn't celebrate and rage every day of the week. Instead, I was stressed out and running about trying to sublet my new apartment out before my move-in date. Unlike my 22nd birthday, I didn't plan a grand soiree and put on my fancy blue dress. I just had dinner and drinks with friends at our usual bar and wore black jeans. Unlike my 22nd birthday, I didn't hold my expectations high for the year to come, instead, I worried and fretted over how and why I will make the decisions I will make over the next 365 days until I can worry and fret again at age 24.

At age 23, one of my best friends is no longer living with me and is moving across the country to Utah. At age 23, I have friendships that are stronger, deeper, and delightfully more complex. At age 23, I am in a loving relationship that is healthy and blessed by the ones who really matter and care. At age 23, I am moving out of my full-service, luxury building with a doorman in the financial district, to a true blue NYC duplex apartment, complete with exposed brick, in a walk-up building located in the heart of the east village. At age 23, I have more goals and dreams than I have ever, ever, had. At age 23, I am more determined than ever to finish my early 20's with memories and moments that will not fail to make me proud when I look back on them. I pray to my dear Lord that all these things will not falter throughout the coming year, that I will have the wisdom, poise, and strength to carry out everything I've ever wanted to the fullest un-mediocrity.

Here's to 23!

Cheers,

Cheryl