MY ROOMMATES AND I GOT A PUPPY!!!
She is a beautiful pomeranian-poodle mix and I just want to squeeze her and bite her and throw her and catch her and roll her over aaaannndddd AAAHHH!!! She is smart and playful and feisty and absolutely perfect.
The entire ambience of our apartment has changed. Everyone is happier and everything is just full of joy and love and pink clouds and ponies and rainbows and cotton candy and butterflies!
See my profile picture ---> for a glimpse of this cutie.
We still need a name though! Thoughts?
A HUGE Cheers,
Cheryl
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
quick though #9
Johnny or Jesus and I always pick the former.
F*ck.
Just feeling like one, big, fat, fa-q. <^>
A NYE rager is in order this year, me thinks.
F*ck.
Just feeling like one, big, fat, fa-q. <^>
A NYE rager is in order this year, me thinks.
Friday, December 18, 2009
loves it.
oh Broadway,
what a G.
I was looking at a map of New York City today. I have often looked at maps of the fabulous city I live in, but today, for some reason, I noticed "Broadway."
Have you ever noticed "Broadway"? Today, I did.
It slices its way everso cunningly and recklessly through the whole of Manhattan, oblivious to the fact that it has just ruined the perfect grid that is New York City's streets and avenues. It is the most powerful of all diagonal lines and shows its omnipresence to all who wander into arguably the greatest city in the world. I wonder how "Broadway" came about. Who was the genius that decided to insert a misshapen chaotic monster of a road into the neatly placed horizontal streets and vertical avenues?
How incredibly mind-boggling.
Cheers,
Cheryl
what a G.
I was looking at a map of New York City today. I have often looked at maps of the fabulous city I live in, but today, for some reason, I noticed "Broadway."
Have you ever noticed "Broadway"? Today, I did.
It slices its way everso cunningly and recklessly through the whole of Manhattan, oblivious to the fact that it has just ruined the perfect grid that is New York City's streets and avenues. It is the most powerful of all diagonal lines and shows its omnipresence to all who wander into arguably the greatest city in the world. I wonder how "Broadway" came about. Who was the genius that decided to insert a misshapen chaotic monster of a road into the neatly placed horizontal streets and vertical avenues?
How incredibly mind-boggling.
Cheers,
Cheryl
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
my dad cracks me up.
blackberry messaging
is always more fun with daddy.
I know I always post tidbits of conversations between me and my parents and I know people don't really care what words are exchanged between my folks and I, but this conversation was particularly amusing:
Me: I'm going into the war room now daddy.
Daddy: Ok. Pls be sure to wear a helmet and bulletproof vest.
Daddy: And stay low.
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!! For those of you who don't get the hilarity behind what he said, it's probably because you don't know what a "war room" is. Basically, it's just a remote space where attorneys (litigators and whoever else is needed) and their clients can meet to discuss the case and strategies and whatever else is relevant before they go into court. They're usually set-up when convening at a firm's permanent office is inconvenient or impossible.
I love Daddy and his imagination. I blog about him quite a bit, don't I?
Cheers,
Cheryl
is always more fun with daddy.
I know I always post tidbits of conversations between me and my parents and I know people don't really care what words are exchanged between my folks and I, but this conversation was particularly amusing:
Me: I'm going into the war room now daddy.
Daddy: Ok. Pls be sure to wear a helmet and bulletproof vest.
Daddy: And stay low.
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!! For those of you who don't get the hilarity behind what he said, it's probably because you don't know what a "war room" is. Basically, it's just a remote space where attorneys (litigators and whoever else is needed) and their clients can meet to discuss the case and strategies and whatever else is relevant before they go into court. They're usually set-up when convening at a firm's permanent office is inconvenient or impossible.
I love Daddy and his imagination. I blog about him quite a bit, don't I?
Cheers,
Cheryl
quick thought #8
I have 6 drafts of posts that have yet to be completed. Writing extensively about a thought you had a month ago is really difficult. Let's not let our once-brilliant ideas fade away into the dust...
I must finish these.
I must finish these.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
f*ck you very much.
this would be "thank you very much"s
rebellious older cousin, I'd say.
My parents picked me up from my NYC apartment one weekend to bring me home to Jersey. On the car ride home, my father proceeded to ask me questions about what I did over the weekend (rage, what else?) and with whom I did these activities. I'm usually pretty good about answering all his questions, since I know much too well what it feels like to be curious about unnecessary things, so I rattled off answer after answer. At one point however, I retorted with, "Whyyy daddy??? You wouldn't know even if i told you!" He got slightly peeved and told me that was a horrible way to carry-on a conversation and that it was rude and impolite and curt aaand... get my drift?
A few days later, I met up with him to have lunch and he kept answering all my questions with "Why? You wouldn't know even if i told you." He was clearly mocking me, as he so often does. See, the thing is, my dad always responds with "I can't tell you" to MY questions so I attempted to equate my brusque response to his. Here is what he said:
Daddy: "Jinjin, let's say I had a meeting with a client."
Me: "Uh-huh..."
Daddy: "Let's say the next day, another client asked what I did with client A."
Me: "Uh-huh..."
Daddy: "If I said to him, 'I can't tell you... but would you like to set-up a meeting with me next week to find out?' then I may have just made another business opportunity for myself."
Me: "Uh-huh..."
Daddy: "But, let's say I said to client B, 'Why do you wanna know? You wouldn't know even if I told you!' then client B would just go, 'F*ck you very much!' and I'll be in deep sh*t!"
Me: "AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAAA!!!!!"
The end.
Haha, jk. The moral of his story is that... I don't really know. I just never heard anyone say "f*ck you very much!" and the way my dad said it was hilarious.
Cheers,
Cheryl
PS: I DO know the moral of the story and the lesson my daddy was trying to teach me; I just don't care to elaborate on it 'cus I trust that my readers are wise enough to understand. Don't fail me, readers.
rebellious older cousin, I'd say.
My parents picked me up from my NYC apartment one weekend to bring me home to Jersey. On the car ride home, my father proceeded to ask me questions about what I did over the weekend (rage, what else?) and with whom I did these activities. I'm usually pretty good about answering all his questions, since I know much too well what it feels like to be curious about unnecessary things, so I rattled off answer after answer. At one point however, I retorted with, "Whyyy daddy??? You wouldn't know even if i told you!" He got slightly peeved and told me that was a horrible way to carry-on a conversation and that it was rude and impolite and curt aaand... get my drift?
A few days later, I met up with him to have lunch and he kept answering all my questions with "Why? You wouldn't know even if i told you." He was clearly mocking me, as he so often does. See, the thing is, my dad always responds with "I can't tell you" to MY questions so I attempted to equate my brusque response to his. Here is what he said:
Daddy: "Jinjin, let's say I had a meeting with a client."
Me: "Uh-huh..."
Daddy: "Let's say the next day, another client asked what I did with client A."
Me: "Uh-huh..."
Daddy: "If I said to him, 'I can't tell you... but would you like to set-up a meeting with me next week to find out?' then I may have just made another business opportunity for myself."
Me: "Uh-huh..."
Daddy: "But, let's say I said to client B, 'Why do you wanna know? You wouldn't know even if I told you!' then client B would just go, 'F*ck you very much!' and I'll be in deep sh*t!"
Me: "AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAAA!!!!!"
The end.
Haha, jk. The moral of his story is that... I don't really know. I just never heard anyone say "f*ck you very much!" and the way my dad said it was hilarious.
Cheers,
Cheryl
PS: I DO know the moral of the story and the lesson my daddy was trying to teach me; I just don't care to elaborate on it 'cus I trust that my readers are wise enough to understand. Don't fail me, readers.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
november 30th, 1986.
is the date my parents
decided to spend an eternity together.
I'm a day late, but I just wanted to post a congratulatory message to the 'rents on their 23-year anniversary. This year is special because they dated for 7 years before they got married, so technically, this is their 30-year anniversary! Wowza.
Me: Watcha doin' mama?
Mommy: Writing a love letter.. hehe
Me: To who? Daddy??
Mommy: Yes.. my love of 30 years.
Me: Wow... thirty years!!!
Mommy: Yep.. even after 30 years, he still makes me laugh and I'm still sexy in his eyes~~ not bad huh?? ;)
I laughed for quite a while after she said this to me. She then tells me she hopes my brother and I find soulmates too. Man, the topic of marriage is ever-present around me lately. One of my best friends from high school set his wedding date for next June, I bumped into an old friend, who got married recently, shopping with her husband on Black Friday, and yet another friend from church is getting married in April. Not to mention, all my old male-friends from high school (who I thought were never going to grow up) have serious girlfriends and brought them out to our reunion over Thanksgiving! What is this world coming to?! Why are my ALL my girlfriends and I still single?!
Don't get me wrong. I am so extremely happy for those who've found "love." I just wish "love" would find it in itself to find me too...
Cheers,
Cheryl
decided to spend an eternity together.
I'm a day late, but I just wanted to post a congratulatory message to the 'rents on their 23-year anniversary. This year is special because they dated for 7 years before they got married, so technically, this is their 30-year anniversary! Wowza.
Me: Watcha doin' mama?
Mommy: Writing a love letter.. hehe
Me: To who? Daddy??
Mommy: Yes.. my love of 30 years.
Me: Wow... thirty years!!!
Mommy: Yep.. even after 30 years, he still makes me laugh and I'm still sexy in his eyes~~ not bad huh?? ;)
I laughed for quite a while after she said this to me. She then tells me she hopes my brother and I find soulmates too. Man, the topic of marriage is ever-present around me lately. One of my best friends from high school set his wedding date for next June, I bumped into an old friend, who got married recently, shopping with her husband on Black Friday, and yet another friend from church is getting married in April. Not to mention, all my old male-friends from high school (who I thought were never going to grow up) have serious girlfriends and brought them out to our reunion over Thanksgiving! What is this world coming to?! Why are my ALL my girlfriends and I still single?!
Don't get me wrong. I am so extremely happy for those who've found "love." I just wish "love" would find it in itself to find me too...
Cheers,
Cheryl
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
kate moss.
WOULD say this:
"Nothing tastes as good as being skinny feels."
Don't get me wrong; I'm a HUGE foodie. However, when I went on my 10-day Master Cleanse Detox in preparation for Spring Break, I felt wonderfully thin and thought I didn't ever want to eat again if I could just feel like that forever...
7 pounds and 8 months later, I am, quite literally, eating my words.
I'm not sure how I feel about this quote. I both agree AND disagree with it vehemently.
Cheers,
Cheryl
"Nothing tastes as good as being skinny feels."
Don't get me wrong; I'm a HUGE foodie. However, when I went on my 10-day Master Cleanse Detox in preparation for Spring Break, I felt wonderfully thin and thought I didn't ever want to eat again if I could just feel like that forever...
7 pounds and 8 months later, I am, quite literally, eating my words.
I'm not sure how I feel about this quote. I both agree AND disagree with it vehemently.
Cheers,
Cheryl
Friday, October 16, 2009
excuse you.
in my book,
pidgeons always have the right of way.
I might've mentioned in a previous post that I am deathly afraid of rodents, pidgeons, and miniature greyhounds. Just typing those freaking words made me shudder. OMG, gross. This entry is going to be short (but not sweet by any means) because I can't stand to talk about this topic for longer than a few minutes.
The purpose behind this post is to help me realize that I am being ridiculous and foolish by letting pidgeons determine my routes to my various destinations. If ever I see so much as a glimpse of a pidgeon up ahead of me, I will stop and wait for it to be a good 10 feet away from me until I continue along my way. If I don't have the patience to wait for the stupid bird to move its ass, I will hurry and find another street to turn into. I used to just try to carefully maneuver my way around them but one time, I guess I startled them (albeit my stealthiness), and got attacked once and made a fool out of myself so I decided just avoiding them at all costs is the way to go.
At first, I didn't see anything wrong with these antics of mine. I figured, as long as I don't have any interactions with these feathered demons, I'm good. However, lately I have been late on more than one occasion for an engagement, and I have come to the realization that it is all because of my fear of pidgeons. Thus, I will no longer let these dumb fowls intimidate and bully me!!!
Man, I'm an animal-lover but I really just wish pidgeons would become extinct.
Cheers,
Cheryl
PS: I walked behind a woman with not one, but TWO miniature greyhounds on my way to work the other day and I had to repeat in my head, "you are going to be late" to prevent myself from finding a detour. Ugh.
pidgeons always have the right of way.
I might've mentioned in a previous post that I am deathly afraid of rodents, pidgeons, and miniature greyhounds. Just typing those freaking words made me shudder. OMG, gross. This entry is going to be short (but not sweet by any means) because I can't stand to talk about this topic for longer than a few minutes.
The purpose behind this post is to help me realize that I am being ridiculous and foolish by letting pidgeons determine my routes to my various destinations. If ever I see so much as a glimpse of a pidgeon up ahead of me, I will stop and wait for it to be a good 10 feet away from me until I continue along my way. If I don't have the patience to wait for the stupid bird to move its ass, I will hurry and find another street to turn into. I used to just try to carefully maneuver my way around them but one time, I guess I startled them (albeit my stealthiness), and got attacked once and made a fool out of myself so I decided just avoiding them at all costs is the way to go.
At first, I didn't see anything wrong with these antics of mine. I figured, as long as I don't have any interactions with these feathered demons, I'm good. However, lately I have been late on more than one occasion for an engagement, and I have come to the realization that it is all because of my fear of pidgeons. Thus, I will no longer let these dumb fowls intimidate and bully me!!!
Man, I'm an animal-lover but I really just wish pidgeons would become extinct.
Cheers,
Cheryl
PS: I walked behind a woman with not one, but TWO miniature greyhounds on my way to work the other day and I had to repeat in my head, "you are going to be late" to prevent myself from finding a detour. Ugh.
Friday, October 2, 2009
one thing.
is all it really takes.
What I'm about to write about is something quite obvious but I just had to blog about it with one particular person in mind.
The "one thing" I am referring to in the title of this entry ranges from a specific hobby, to a skill, to a passion. That sounds really vague, so to put it plainly, it is really effing hot when someone is super passionate about their craft. There are at least 10 or so people I can talk endless praise about, who fit the above description, but I will focus on just one person for now.
Tablo from Epik High:
I cannot believe I am writing about a Kpop star in my blog, but I have developed a newfound obsession with Tablo from Epik High. I'm not going to go on excessively about the absolute brilliance that encompasses the mind, body, and soul of Tablo. I will just say that this guy is a lyrical genius when it comes to his poetic lyrics and his one-liners. He is just so damn good with words and when putting those words to a beat, no one has Tablo beat. Whoa, totally unintentionally pulled a lyrical genius moment there, myself. The scrawny insect-resembling leader of one of the most musically gifted and talented groups of mainstream Korean music today, says some incredibly profound things in his interviews and through his music. Take a careful listen next time.
Tiger JK is also someone who fits this description. The dude is just... amazing. I think Tablo tries to mirror his mindset to that of Tiger JK. I know these guys are both just popular Korean artists but there's something really awesome going on in the minds of Tablo and Tiger JK.
I know there are so many people like them, in that they hone their skill or craft to near-perfection and leave the rest of us plebians in awe along the way, but I just recently discovered Tablo and Tiger JK's hotness, so bear with me. You know, I wish I was particularly good at something. Not just good but particularly good. Good enough or passionate enough to get good. Does that make sense? I so dearly wish I had a talent that I was confident in, enough so that it set me apart and distinguished me from others, even slightly. I used to think it was too late for me to pick up a serious hobby, but I get inspired everyday by people who truly follow their dreams. How corny does that sound? In all seriousness though, my hidden passion is musical theater (every and all aspects of it) so perhaps one day I'll try my hand at a small role somewhere... eep!
All this really just boils down to molding yourself into the best "you" that you can be. Again, corny as hell, but this life will end without warning, so why not discover all of you while you still can, right?
Cheers,
Cheryl
What I'm about to write about is something quite obvious but I just had to blog about it with one particular person in mind.
The "one thing" I am referring to in the title of this entry ranges from a specific hobby, to a skill, to a passion. That sounds really vague, so to put it plainly, it is really effing hot when someone is super passionate about their craft. There are at least 10 or so people I can talk endless praise about, who fit the above description, but I will focus on just one person for now.
Tablo from Epik High:
I cannot believe I am writing about a Kpop star in my blog, but I have developed a newfound obsession with Tablo from Epik High. I'm not going to go on excessively about the absolute brilliance that encompasses the mind, body, and soul of Tablo. I will just say that this guy is a lyrical genius when it comes to his poetic lyrics and his one-liners. He is just so damn good with words and when putting those words to a beat, no one has Tablo beat. Whoa, totally unintentionally pulled a lyrical genius moment there, myself. The scrawny insect-resembling leader of one of the most musically gifted and talented groups of mainstream Korean music today, says some incredibly profound things in his interviews and through his music. Take a careful listen next time.
Tiger JK is also someone who fits this description. The dude is just... amazing. I think Tablo tries to mirror his mindset to that of Tiger JK. I know these guys are both just popular Korean artists but there's something really awesome going on in the minds of Tablo and Tiger JK.
I know there are so many people like them, in that they hone their skill or craft to near-perfection and leave the rest of us plebians in awe along the way, but I just recently discovered Tablo and Tiger JK's hotness, so bear with me. You know, I wish I was particularly good at something. Not just good but particularly good. Good enough or passionate enough to get good. Does that make sense? I so dearly wish I had a talent that I was confident in, enough so that it set me apart and distinguished me from others, even slightly. I used to think it was too late for me to pick up a serious hobby, but I get inspired everyday by people who truly follow their dreams. How corny does that sound? In all seriousness though, my hidden passion is musical theater (every and all aspects of it) so perhaps one day I'll try my hand at a small role somewhere... eep!
All this really just boils down to molding yourself into the best "you" that you can be. Again, corny as hell, but this life will end without warning, so why not discover all of you while you still can, right?
Cheers,
Cheryl
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
quick thought #7
I keep blogging in bulk.
I need to stop binge-blogging and consistently blog on a daily basis.
I need to stop binge-blogging and consistently blog on a daily basis.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
quick thought #6
I, Cheryl H Kim, officially have my very first HATER! How exciting!
Perez Hilton has millions. An up and rising blogger has to start somewhere, eh? ;)
Perez Hilton has millions. An up and rising blogger has to start somewhere, eh? ;)
vivid dreams.
i wake up every morning
as though i dreamt a reality.
Anyone who knows the least about me knows that I am a deep-sleeper. I fall asleep very quickly and can sleep through just about anything. When I wake up in the morning, I usually feel as though my time spent sleeping was cut extremely short and I relish in the sweet minutes before my alarm goes off (granted, I wake up before it does). My point is, nothing can stop me from having a warm, snuggly, blissful night of zZz's--not even a nightmare. I sleep so deeply that I rarely have dreams and when I do, I don't really remember them the next morning. That's why I completely understand when people compare recalling a dream to cupping water with your hands. The more you try, the more it slowly disappears...
These days, however, I have been remembering every single detail of every single dream I have. It's weird that I'm remembering all these images so vividly but it's even stranger that I'm consistently having dreams every, single, night! For the past two weeks or so, I have dreamt wildly imaginative and realistic dreams whilst in my deep state of slumber. And I remember every stupid damn detail! Many people may think this is great and awesome and just fantastic; I did too, until yesterday. I thought it was an artistic gift from God that I was having such entertaining and eventful dreams that I was able to recall without hesitation, until a dream invaded my reality. Yesterday, I dreamt that I went home and my mom bought me this gorgeous bright green Prada wallet (wishful dreaming, eh?). So in my dream, I bbm'd my friend Lisa (who loves luxurious leather goods just about as much as I do) telling her all about this wallet and its immense beauty. In my dream, I told her I'd show it to her as soon as she got home from work. Then, I woke up and went about my day, thinking about how nice it would have been had my dream been real.
Later that night, as we were eating dinner and eagerly awaiting the next episode of Gossip Girl, I suddenly jumped out of my seat shouting, "oh!" My roommates, Lisa and Judy, looked at me with quizzical expressions on their faces. As I took a step into my room, I stopped. I realized... I HAD JUST JUMPED UP TO SHOW LISA MY NEW "WALLET!" And of course, this was virtually impossible since I had DREAMT up this wallet and it didn't really exist anywhere, least of all, in my room! I started cracking up, incredulous that I actually got out of my seat to go find and show to my roommates this wallet that didn't exist. When I told my roommates this... well, you can just imagine their reactions (especially if you know the two ladies in question).
Lisa: "Uhhh.....-.-... What's wrong with you..."
Judy: "AHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA IDIOTTTTT! Stupid schwulllll!!!"
Such love up in 16G, I tell ya.
Anyway, when this particularly out of mind and body moment happened, I realized I needed to stop this excessive dreaming. I don't know why I've been dreaming so much and I further can't believe that I remember all my dreams to the point where I actually think them to be real. My dream world and real world have met and collided and made a fool of me; I can no longer let this happen. Craziness. Hey, but I'm kind of like a young, female, Asian Steven Spielberg. Maybe I should just start a company called 'Dreamworks 2' and make billions of dollars off producing movies out of my dreams.
Or maybe I should just take some Benadryl and try to sleep dreamless-ly tonight.
Cheers,
Cheryl
PS: Apparently, studies show that one dreams every single time they fall asleep. A dream-less night is actually scientifically impossible. We have them, but just don't remember them the next morning. Cool.
as though i dreamt a reality.
Anyone who knows the least about me knows that I am a deep-sleeper. I fall asleep very quickly and can sleep through just about anything. When I wake up in the morning, I usually feel as though my time spent sleeping was cut extremely short and I relish in the sweet minutes before my alarm goes off (granted, I wake up before it does). My point is, nothing can stop me from having a warm, snuggly, blissful night of zZz's--not even a nightmare. I sleep so deeply that I rarely have dreams and when I do, I don't really remember them the next morning. That's why I completely understand when people compare recalling a dream to cupping water with your hands. The more you try, the more it slowly disappears...
These days, however, I have been remembering every single detail of every single dream I have. It's weird that I'm remembering all these images so vividly but it's even stranger that I'm consistently having dreams every, single, night! For the past two weeks or so, I have dreamt wildly imaginative and realistic dreams whilst in my deep state of slumber. And I remember every stupid damn detail! Many people may think this is great and awesome and just fantastic; I did too, until yesterday. I thought it was an artistic gift from God that I was having such entertaining and eventful dreams that I was able to recall without hesitation, until a dream invaded my reality. Yesterday, I dreamt that I went home and my mom bought me this gorgeous bright green Prada wallet (wishful dreaming, eh?). So in my dream, I bbm'd my friend Lisa (who loves luxurious leather goods just about as much as I do) telling her all about this wallet and its immense beauty. In my dream, I told her I'd show it to her as soon as she got home from work. Then, I woke up and went about my day, thinking about how nice it would have been had my dream been real.
Later that night, as we were eating dinner and eagerly awaiting the next episode of Gossip Girl, I suddenly jumped out of my seat shouting, "oh!" My roommates, Lisa and Judy, looked at me with quizzical expressions on their faces. As I took a step into my room, I stopped. I realized... I HAD JUST JUMPED UP TO SHOW LISA MY NEW "WALLET!" And of course, this was virtually impossible since I had DREAMT up this wallet and it didn't really exist anywhere, least of all, in my room! I started cracking up, incredulous that I actually got out of my seat to go find and show to my roommates this wallet that didn't exist. When I told my roommates this... well, you can just imagine their reactions (especially if you know the two ladies in question).
Lisa: "Uhhh.....-.-... What's wrong with you..."
Judy: "AHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA IDIOTTTTT! Stupid schwulllll!!!"
Such love up in 16G, I tell ya.
Anyway, when this particularly out of mind and body moment happened, I realized I needed to stop this excessive dreaming. I don't know why I've been dreaming so much and I further can't believe that I remember all my dreams to the point where I actually think them to be real. My dream world and real world have met and collided and made a fool of me; I can no longer let this happen. Craziness. Hey, but I'm kind of like a young, female, Asian Steven Spielberg. Maybe I should just start a company called 'Dreamworks 2' and make billions of dollars off producing movies out of my dreams.
Or maybe I should just take some Benadryl and try to sleep dreamless-ly tonight.
Cheers,
Cheryl
PS: Apparently, studies show that one dreams every single time they fall asleep. A dream-less night is actually scientifically impossible. We have them, but just don't remember them the next morning. Cool.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
LOL!
the one thing that never fails to make me
Laugh Out Loud.
My mom always tells me that I was a silent and quite boring infant. While my brother and cousins giggled and cried and drooled and such, my mom describes me as having been wide-eyed and scream/tear-less. She and my daddy would try all sorts of things to make me laugh or smile but I never showed any signs of breaking from my expressionless "O.O" face. Finally, one day, when she had given up all hope of her first-born daughter ever cracking a smile, a miracle happened. She was doing laundry with me on her back and as she whipped open a wet towel from the wash to hang out to dry, infant Cheryl started cracking up. Amazed, my mom continued to pull clothes and towels from the wash, whipping them to hang. I cracked up each time she did so. Okay, see? I was strange from infant-hood; I can't help it people.
To this day, I don't find many things funny. My close friends are always telling me to stop fake-laughing or to stop giving people dirty looks when they try to be funny. I don't know what it is. I also just really don't see the humor in some of today's most popular comedy shows, movies, or jokes. Like Will Ferrel and Vince Vaughn, The Office, and those dumb kids in Superbad? All un-amusing idiots.
I don't find towel-whipping funny anymore, either. I don't know what I was thinking back when I was nine-months-old; it's not that funny. You know what I DO find absolutely knee-slappingly hilarious, though? This is something that not many people know about me but I have always always always found this particular thing to be insanely funny. You know when people spin in circles? They spin and spin and spin and then they stop and try to walk in a straight line towards something and then their feet get all tangled and they fall and trip everywhere? I THINK THIS IS EFFING HILARIOUS!!! Omg, thinking about it right now is making my fingers twitch with glee while typing! SO FREAKING FUNNY!
Wooo-saaaaa... okay, I'm calm now. HAHAHA! Okay. Seriously, this is the ONE singular most thing that will never ever fail to crack me up. If I'm mad at you or upset about something, now you know what to do.
This post was actually originally supposed to be about the two things that make me laugh. Unfortunately, I drafted this post quite a while ago (today is actually the 29th of September, contrary to what this post says in its title) and completely forgot what the second thing is. I tried really hard to remember, but I just can't, so I'm assuming it's really not that funny and I'm over it now. Basically, I just think it's funny when people fall or trip or hurt themselves by accident while doing something dumb. Have you ever seen that Japanese show on SpikeTV? I'm not going to go into details, but those of you who know, you KNOW what I'm talking about right? Oh, it's also funny when Asian people can't speak English (check out engrish.com) and when people fake accents (punjabi style or otherwise). People who are funny without knowing they're being funny are great too. They're the best kind of people, in my opinion.
Damnit, I really wish I could remember what my second thing was. It was probably at least slightly amusing.
Cheers,
Cheryl
Laugh Out Loud.
My mom always tells me that I was a silent and quite boring infant. While my brother and cousins giggled and cried and drooled and such, my mom describes me as having been wide-eyed and scream/tear-less. She and my daddy would try all sorts of things to make me laugh or smile but I never showed any signs of breaking from my expressionless "O.O" face. Finally, one day, when she had given up all hope of her first-born daughter ever cracking a smile, a miracle happened. She was doing laundry with me on her back and as she whipped open a wet towel from the wash to hang out to dry, infant Cheryl started cracking up. Amazed, my mom continued to pull clothes and towels from the wash, whipping them to hang. I cracked up each time she did so. Okay, see? I was strange from infant-hood; I can't help it people.
To this day, I don't find many things funny. My close friends are always telling me to stop fake-laughing or to stop giving people dirty looks when they try to be funny. I don't know what it is. I also just really don't see the humor in some of today's most popular comedy shows, movies, or jokes. Like Will Ferrel and Vince Vaughn, The Office, and those dumb kids in Superbad? All un-amusing idiots.
I don't find towel-whipping funny anymore, either. I don't know what I was thinking back when I was nine-months-old; it's not that funny. You know what I DO find absolutely knee-slappingly hilarious, though? This is something that not many people know about me but I have always always always found this particular thing to be insanely funny. You know when people spin in circles? They spin and spin and spin and then they stop and try to walk in a straight line towards something and then their feet get all tangled and they fall and trip everywhere? I THINK THIS IS EFFING HILARIOUS!!! Omg, thinking about it right now is making my fingers twitch with glee while typing! SO FREAKING FUNNY!
Wooo-saaaaa... okay, I'm calm now. HAHAHA! Okay. Seriously, this is the ONE singular most thing that will never ever fail to crack me up. If I'm mad at you or upset about something, now you know what to do.
This post was actually originally supposed to be about the two things that make me laugh. Unfortunately, I drafted this post quite a while ago (today is actually the 29th of September, contrary to what this post says in its title) and completely forgot what the second thing is. I tried really hard to remember, but I just can't, so I'm assuming it's really not that funny and I'm over it now. Basically, I just think it's funny when people fall or trip or hurt themselves by accident while doing something dumb. Have you ever seen that Japanese show on SpikeTV? I'm not going to go into details, but those of you who know, you KNOW what I'm talking about right? Oh, it's also funny when Asian people can't speak English (check out engrish.com) and when people fake accents (punjabi style or otherwise). People who are funny without knowing they're being funny are great too. They're the best kind of people, in my opinion.
Damnit, I really wish I could remember what my second thing was. It was probably at least slightly amusing.
Cheers,
Cheryl
Monday, August 31, 2009
the little mermaid.
Ariel is my GIRL.
My favorite Disney movie and story is hands-down, The Little Mermaid. I read the original very sad Hans Christian Andersen version as well and I love that version too.
My reason for this random outburst is the fact that I came across THIS today:
If you know what it is, no words needed. If you don't know what it is, you have been deprived of a great deal of fun in your childhood. This game, and many others like it with different characters, was the ISH. Seriously, looking at it makes me smile and laugh and I want to play it right now. My friends make fun of me because I am absolutely horrid at video games, but I will PWN ANYONE at this game. I am seriously considering buying it on eBay right now. I can picture Ursula snarling at me daring me to do it from behind the game's screen already...
My mommy has a Precious Moments and Mickey & Minnie collectibles collection at home. I will start a Little Mermaid one when I am older. I seriously love The Little Mermaid. I was even Ariel for Halloween!
I mean c'mon. It really doesn't get more obsessive than this, does it? Haha. I absolutely love The Little Mermaid. Ariel is most definitely the coolest Disney princess of all time. And I totally do the best impression of Ursula. Ask me to do it for you next time.
Cheers,
Cheryl
My favorite Disney movie and story is hands-down, The Little Mermaid. I read the original very sad Hans Christian Andersen version as well and I love that version too.
My reason for this random outburst is the fact that I came across THIS today:
If you know what it is, no words needed. If you don't know what it is, you have been deprived of a great deal of fun in your childhood. This game, and many others like it with different characters, was the ISH. Seriously, looking at it makes me smile and laugh and I want to play it right now. My friends make fun of me because I am absolutely horrid at video games, but I will PWN ANYONE at this game. I am seriously considering buying it on eBay right now. I can picture Ursula snarling at me daring me to do it from behind the game's screen already...
My mommy has a Precious Moments and Mickey & Minnie collectibles collection at home. I will start a Little Mermaid one when I am older. I seriously love The Little Mermaid. I was even Ariel for Halloween!
I mean c'mon. It really doesn't get more obsessive than this, does it? Haha. I absolutely love The Little Mermaid. Ariel is most definitely the coolest Disney princess of all time. And I totally do the best impression of Ursula. Ask me to do it for you next time.
Cheers,
Cheryl
life's too short.
we hear this all the time.
life's too short to this and that and the other.
today, life is too short to look just average.
A friend of mine told this to another friend of mine and she in turn, repeated this to me: "Life is too short to look just average." 'Tis true.
The friend who said this initially was spotted recently with significantly less fat and significantly more muscle and tone in his body. Boy, was I shocked! I guess he has really been living this saying out. Good for him, I wish I could do the same.
I've always been more than satisfied with my looks (as evident from my previous posts, haha). Recently however, my very own mother has been asking me if I wanted to get my nose done in Korea. My reaction was "Mommy, do you not think your daughter is pretty enough?" I was sad. I've never given any serious thought to plastic surgery and to think that my own mother thought I needed to go under the knife was depressing. I have many friends who have gotten double-eyelid surgery and nose surgery as well, but I've never wanted it. Now, I'm not so sure...
JUST KEEDING. After much thought, I have come to the realization that I am beautiful just the way God made me and I will never ever ever get any form of cosmetic surgery.
But, I WILL lose weight. Losing weight can make a world of a difference and my weight has yo-yo'd enough! I will lose 15 pounds and STAY 15 pounds lighter permanently. Perhaps my nose will appear sharper and my eyes bigger once I lose some damn weight. DAMN YOU, FAT! DAMN YOU, APPETITE! DAMN, YOU GOOD FOOD! DAMN YOU, LACK OF SELF-CONTROL!!!
"Life is too short to look just average." To this I say, "I am definitely looking a mile above average right now, but I don't want to live this short life looking anything less than my best." I am not at my best right now, folks.
To seeing myself 15 pounds lighter-
Cheers,
Cheryl
life's too short to this and that and the other.
today, life is too short to look just average.
A friend of mine told this to another friend of mine and she in turn, repeated this to me: "Life is too short to look just average." 'Tis true.
The friend who said this initially was spotted recently with significantly less fat and significantly more muscle and tone in his body. Boy, was I shocked! I guess he has really been living this saying out. Good for him, I wish I could do the same.
I've always been more than satisfied with my looks (as evident from my previous posts, haha). Recently however, my very own mother has been asking me if I wanted to get my nose done in Korea. My reaction was "Mommy, do you not think your daughter is pretty enough?" I was sad. I've never given any serious thought to plastic surgery and to think that my own mother thought I needed to go under the knife was depressing. I have many friends who have gotten double-eyelid surgery and nose surgery as well, but I've never wanted it. Now, I'm not so sure...
JUST KEEDING. After much thought, I have come to the realization that I am beautiful just the way God made me and I will never ever ever get any form of cosmetic surgery.
But, I WILL lose weight. Losing weight can make a world of a difference and my weight has yo-yo'd enough! I will lose 15 pounds and STAY 15 pounds lighter permanently. Perhaps my nose will appear sharper and my eyes bigger once I lose some damn weight. DAMN YOU, FAT! DAMN YOU, APPETITE! DAMN, YOU GOOD FOOD! DAMN YOU, LACK OF SELF-CONTROL!!!
"Life is too short to look just average." To this I say, "I am definitely looking a mile above average right now, but I don't want to live this short life looking anything less than my best." I am not at my best right now, folks.
To seeing myself 15 pounds lighter-
Cheers,
Cheryl
Thursday, August 6, 2009
a teacher's grace.
the greatest thing i've learned
throughout 18 years of schooling.
In Korean, "a teacher's grace" sounds much cooler--"스승의은혜." The grace of a teacher, not grace like a ballerina, but grace as in gracious, is a concept I've come to realize with age. As an immature student, teachers were nothing more than a merciless provider of homework, exams, and grades. At age 22, my thoughts have changed tremendously.
I hope everyone agrees with me when I say that there exist very specific teachers who truly made a significant impact on my life. If not a significant impact, there has to be a teacher whom you can never forget, whether it be for negative or positive reasons. This post is intended to reveal teachers whom I've grown to respect because to this day, they have refused to be forgotten.
Out of the 40 possible teachers I've learned from during my 18 years of schooling, three teachers will remain in my memory as being the most influential. The first two are my homeroom teachers from my short time spent in Korea. As an American who didn't speak a sentence of Korean, I was plopped into a classroom full of real, live, breathing, native Korean students. Let's just say they didn't exactly welcome my Ralph Lauren-wearing, Jansport-carrying, dyed-hair swishing, American-ness with rice cakes and smiles. I wasn't fond of their "Sport Replay" shirts and wannabe "Gansport" backpacks either. I was a rebellious and frustrated 13 year-old who was confused and suffocated by her foreign surroundings. Until I met Choi Jin-Heung 선생님. My 중1 (7th grade) homeroom teacher was one of the sweetest, most genuine, kind-hearted Korean men I have ever met. He was strict when necessary, but didn't unfairly physically discipline his students like the other testosterone-driven Korean male teachers in my school. While his colleagues were beating the bejeezus out of their students, Choi Jin-Heung 선생님 was more creative and clever in his punishments. I still remember what he called the "새우눈" or "shrimp eyes." He would slightly pinch the sides of our eyes and twist them so they stung a little. The entire time he would chuckle at us squirm and cringe and we would feel better knowing he wasn't really angry--just trying to teach a lesson. I know it sounds horrible and you're probably thinking, "wtf?!" but the entire punishment was really a huge inside joke amongst the kids in our homeroom. Unlike the other homerooms and teachers, he would never hit us with wooden sticks until we bruised. He fully understood the chaos in my mind and helped in any and every way possible to ease my transition. I can't express enough how grateful I am to 최진흥 선생님. He will be the first person I find when I go back to Korea.
My 중2 homeroom teacher, Jung Seon-Soon 선생님 was also a sweet, sweet woman. Barely 5 feet, barely 100 pounds, barely a voice loud enough to carry over a room of 50 kids, and barely experienced enough to handle a new job in a new school. Our class was the first class she tackled as a teacher at our middle school. She was new to the school and in for a real treat. I still feel bad for the way we treated her and for the way we disrespected her. I didn't like her initially because she made a spectacle of me the first day of school. She asked my name, called me up to the front, and told everyone that this is exactly what NOT to look like at school. She beat me countless times, one time bruising my two thighs from hip to kneecap. We roughened her up, and she took it all in and roughened us up right back. I grew a newfound respect for this tiny teacher and she for me. She soon realized I wasn't failing classes because I was dumb or incompetent; I just didn't speak Korean. She soon realized my circumstance and sat me down and talked to me about my dreams and aspirations. I told her I was going to go back to America and go to NYU. That, I did. The day I got into NYU, I emailed her telling her I did it. We've been emailing ever since. Jung Seon-Soon 선생님 saw past my punk tough exterior and tried to understand me for who I was, who I used to be, and who I wanted to become. I was truly blessed during my short stay in Korea by having such beautiful people as homeroom teachers. Thank You, Lord.
Finally, Michelle Gannon. Everyone hated her because she thought she was perfect and too good to be teaching in a public high school. Kids thought she was pompous and failed to be a professor, therefore, taught high school classes like college courses. I loved her because she was challenging, tough, creative, innovative, and unlike any other teacher in our school. I appreciated her confidence and accredited her amazing teaching skills to her degrees from Princeton and Columbia. She was young, blonde, blue-eyed, and participated in triathlons. She wrote me an amazing recommendation letter for college and let me read it, telling me that she "never lets students read recommendation letters, but you're special." In the letter, she claimed that she hoped to have a daughter like me. I cried the day she left our school. Her face used to light up every time I walked into her classroom. She was the teacher who first helped me realize my gift with words. Ms. Gannon was in Japan somewhere the last time I heard. She is truly a remarkable person.
There you have it. A long drawn-out look into my past. 스승의은혜. A teacher's grace. I would've been a significantly different person had I not met the aforementioned teachers. Some people are meant to be teachers. These people strive to change lives. These 3 people actually have.
Cheers,
Cheryl
PS: I started this post back in the beginning of August but didn't finish and post it until now. That's why the date reads August 6th. Today is actually the 31st. Just didn't wanna confuse my faithful readers... :)
throughout 18 years of schooling.
In Korean, "a teacher's grace" sounds much cooler--"스승의은혜." The grace of a teacher, not grace like a ballerina, but grace as in gracious, is a concept I've come to realize with age. As an immature student, teachers were nothing more than a merciless provider of homework, exams, and grades. At age 22, my thoughts have changed tremendously.
I hope everyone agrees with me when I say that there exist very specific teachers who truly made a significant impact on my life. If not a significant impact, there has to be a teacher whom you can never forget, whether it be for negative or positive reasons. This post is intended to reveal teachers whom I've grown to respect because to this day, they have refused to be forgotten.
Out of the 40 possible teachers I've learned from during my 18 years of schooling, three teachers will remain in my memory as being the most influential. The first two are my homeroom teachers from my short time spent in Korea. As an American who didn't speak a sentence of Korean, I was plopped into a classroom full of real, live, breathing, native Korean students. Let's just say they didn't exactly welcome my Ralph Lauren-wearing, Jansport-carrying, dyed-hair swishing, American-ness with rice cakes and smiles. I wasn't fond of their "Sport Replay" shirts and wannabe "Gansport" backpacks either. I was a rebellious and frustrated 13 year-old who was confused and suffocated by her foreign surroundings. Until I met Choi Jin-Heung 선생님. My 중1 (7th grade) homeroom teacher was one of the sweetest, most genuine, kind-hearted Korean men I have ever met. He was strict when necessary, but didn't unfairly physically discipline his students like the other testosterone-driven Korean male teachers in my school. While his colleagues were beating the bejeezus out of their students, Choi Jin-Heung 선생님 was more creative and clever in his punishments. I still remember what he called the "새우눈" or "shrimp eyes." He would slightly pinch the sides of our eyes and twist them so they stung a little. The entire time he would chuckle at us squirm and cringe and we would feel better knowing he wasn't really angry--just trying to teach a lesson. I know it sounds horrible and you're probably thinking, "wtf?!" but the entire punishment was really a huge inside joke amongst the kids in our homeroom. Unlike the other homerooms and teachers, he would never hit us with wooden sticks until we bruised. He fully understood the chaos in my mind and helped in any and every way possible to ease my transition. I can't express enough how grateful I am to 최진흥 선생님. He will be the first person I find when I go back to Korea.
My 중2 homeroom teacher, Jung Seon-Soon 선생님 was also a sweet, sweet woman. Barely 5 feet, barely 100 pounds, barely a voice loud enough to carry over a room of 50 kids, and barely experienced enough to handle a new job in a new school. Our class was the first class she tackled as a teacher at our middle school. She was new to the school and in for a real treat. I still feel bad for the way we treated her and for the way we disrespected her. I didn't like her initially because she made a spectacle of me the first day of school. She asked my name, called me up to the front, and told everyone that this is exactly what NOT to look like at school. She beat me countless times, one time bruising my two thighs from hip to kneecap. We roughened her up, and she took it all in and roughened us up right back. I grew a newfound respect for this tiny teacher and she for me. She soon realized I wasn't failing classes because I was dumb or incompetent; I just didn't speak Korean. She soon realized my circumstance and sat me down and talked to me about my dreams and aspirations. I told her I was going to go back to America and go to NYU. That, I did. The day I got into NYU, I emailed her telling her I did it. We've been emailing ever since. Jung Seon-Soon 선생님 saw past my punk tough exterior and tried to understand me for who I was, who I used to be, and who I wanted to become. I was truly blessed during my short stay in Korea by having such beautiful people as homeroom teachers. Thank You, Lord.
Finally, Michelle Gannon. Everyone hated her because she thought she was perfect and too good to be teaching in a public high school. Kids thought she was pompous and failed to be a professor, therefore, taught high school classes like college courses. I loved her because she was challenging, tough, creative, innovative, and unlike any other teacher in our school. I appreciated her confidence and accredited her amazing teaching skills to her degrees from Princeton and Columbia. She was young, blonde, blue-eyed, and participated in triathlons. She wrote me an amazing recommendation letter for college and let me read it, telling me that she "never lets students read recommendation letters, but you're special." In the letter, she claimed that she hoped to have a daughter like me. I cried the day she left our school. Her face used to light up every time I walked into her classroom. She was the teacher who first helped me realize my gift with words. Ms. Gannon was in Japan somewhere the last time I heard. She is truly a remarkable person.
There you have it. A long drawn-out look into my past. 스승의은혜. A teacher's grace. I would've been a significantly different person had I not met the aforementioned teachers. Some people are meant to be teachers. These people strive to change lives. These 3 people actually have.
Cheers,
Cheryl
PS: I started this post back in the beginning of August but didn't finish and post it until now. That's why the date reads August 6th. Today is actually the 31st. Just didn't wanna confuse my faithful readers... :)
Thursday, July 30, 2009
quick thought #5
I love power and authority too much to be anything less than great.
What a dangerous statement.
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
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
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
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
"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.
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
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
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.
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
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
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
Monday, June 29, 2009
they can't get enough.
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
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
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.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
laptop.
My laptop and I have been involved for almost 4 years. It's been a long and unnecessarily drawn-out love/hate relationship. I have finally dumped her to seek better and bigger things. My new partner arrives on March 4th. Praise the Lord. I am trembling with excitement and predict much blogging will be done upon his arrival.
Yes, it'll be a "him" this time. After all, I'm not no lesbian; maybe that's why the relationship didn't work out. Or maybe it was all the illegal Gossip Girl watching I did on random websites that resulted in a mad rush of pop-ups and viruses to my laptop.
Regardless, my next post will be on March 4th.
Hopefully HP delivers him on time. Hopefully...
Yes, it'll be a "him" this time. After all, I'm not no lesbian; maybe that's why the relationship didn't work out. Or maybe it was all the illegal Gossip Girl watching I did on random websites that resulted in a mad rush of pop-ups and viruses to my laptop.
Regardless, my next post will be on March 4th.
Hopefully HP delivers him on time. Hopefully...
Thursday, February 12, 2009
just like xanga.
I need a room for thoughts.
Cliche, I know. But I do, like you wouldn't believe.
The time is currently 3:07am.
I like this. My heart beats fast at the prospect of this "blog" - I think I'll be good at this.
Hello, Xanga of this generation.
I think we'll get along just fine. :)
Cliche, I know. But I do, like you wouldn't believe.
The time is currently 3:07am.
I like this. My heart beats fast at the prospect of this "blog" - I think I'll be good at this.
Hello, Xanga of this generation.
I think we'll get along just fine. :)
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