We don't really celebrate the Valentine's. This time last year, Blake was taking his preliminary examination and probably collapsed immediately after he got home. Two years ago this time, we were watching the Winter Olympics like two champion couch potatoes.
It is quite a blessing for us that the naked Cupid boy stumbles upon a Tuesday this year. Blake doesn't have a sweet tooth. I don't like commercial holidays. When the special day for chocolate manufacturers falls on an unremarkable Tuesday, it is a perfect reason for us not to do anything.
But strange things do happen on Tuesday.
It snowed in Tucson!
Also, when I came home from the RA meeting, I found my place was broken into and visibly altered.
1) My piling dishes in the sink were gone!
2) There was a floral plant with tacky heart-printed ribbons stuck inside my paper towels!
3) Half of my acidic drinks in the fridge were missing!
I was surely speechless and felt an impulse to draft a letter to nowhere.
Dear mystery intruder:
Why you stole my orange juice and redeemed yourself by washing my dishes and leaving an inappropriate sign of affection? What do you want from me? Don't you understand that I'm engaged and you clearly crossed the line?
Yours confused,
Me
Head full of brains, Shoes full of feet
Legally speaking, I am an alien in this country.
But Blake thinks I am just a little green woman sent from the outer space. He is mesmerized because I smell extraterrestrial to him.
I often do and say things that are quite incomprehensible to normal human beings. I also have a knack for turning a happy event into an uncomfortably awkward moment. Not to mention, I have a track record of demonstrating unparalleled persistence over things most people don't even care.
He does not mind me being weird. In fact, I am so removed from the conventional knowledge that he feels compelled--and honored perhaps--to marry me and figure out this biggest puzzle known to him.
In an attempt to make me stay grounded in the earth with him, he teaches me skills to survive. He takes me places. He straddles me in gears to trek over long distances or walk on thin ice with him. He tries to speak my language and get to know my species. He explains to me why people in sleek hair and crisp suit are bickering and acting savage on TV. He listens to my babble and improvised, off-key songs, with a mischievous smile on his face.
He understands me because he knows he doesn't need to understand everything about me.
We would then lean against each other to watch a heart-warming video of the rebels, the outliers, and the misfits over and over again. I maybe shed a tear or two in deep appreciation of Dr. Seuss's legacy. He would try to find out the masterminds behind the cinematography and music and catch the transition imperfections with an expert's eye.
And we all know it can be a lovely thing to be footsy, brainy, and eccentric--together.
"Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You're off to Great Places!
You're off and away!
You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You're on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who'll decide where to go.
You'll look up and down streets. Look 'em over with care.
About some you will say, "I don't choose to go there."
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
you're too smart to go down any not-so-good street.
And you may not find any
you'll want to go down.
In that case, of course,
you'll head straight out of town.
It's opener there
in the wide open air.
Out there things can happen
and frequently do
to people as brainy
and footsy as you.
And when things start to happen,
don't worry. Don't stew.
Just go right along.
You'll start happening too."
--Dr. Seuss, Oh, the Places You'll Go!
But Blake thinks I am just a little green woman sent from the outer space. He is mesmerized because I smell extraterrestrial to him.
I often do and say things that are quite incomprehensible to normal human beings. I also have a knack for turning a happy event into an uncomfortably awkward moment. Not to mention, I have a track record of demonstrating unparalleled persistence over things most people don't even care.
He does not mind me being weird. In fact, I am so removed from the conventional knowledge that he feels compelled--and honored perhaps--to marry me and figure out this biggest puzzle known to him.
In an attempt to make me stay grounded in the earth with him, he teaches me skills to survive. He takes me places. He straddles me in gears to trek over long distances or walk on thin ice with him. He tries to speak my language and get to know my species. He explains to me why people in sleek hair and crisp suit are bickering and acting savage on TV. He listens to my babble and improvised, off-key songs, with a mischievous smile on his face.
He understands me because he knows he doesn't need to understand everything about me.
We would then lean against each other to watch a heart-warming video of the rebels, the outliers, and the misfits over and over again. I maybe shed a tear or two in deep appreciation of Dr. Seuss's legacy. He would try to find out the masterminds behind the cinematography and music and catch the transition imperfections with an expert's eye.
And we all know it can be a lovely thing to be footsy, brainy, and eccentric--together.
"Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You're off to Great Places!
You're off and away!
You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You're on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who'll decide where to go.
You'll look up and down streets. Look 'em over with care.
About some you will say, "I don't choose to go there."
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
you're too smart to go down any not-so-good street.
And you may not find any
you'll want to go down.
In that case, of course,
you'll head straight out of town.
It's opener there
in the wide open air.
Out there things can happen
and frequently do
to people as brainy
and footsy as you.
And when things start to happen,
don't worry. Don't stew.
Just go right along.
You'll start happening too."
--Dr. Seuss, Oh, the Places You'll Go!
Knuckles and Buckles
The names of our cars given by Shijie.
Knuckles for her 2005 Mini, because the curves in the hood slightly resemble the back of a hand, and the fist-clenched way we drive it. Buckles for my 2004 R32, because when you get in you must fasten your seatbelt. As a used car, Knuckles is an incomprehensible adopted child that Shijie feels she must learn to nourish and keep safely protected. The R32 - now Buckles - has been my most trusted companion since late 2004, but it lacked the necessary requirement of automatic shifting for a car to learn to drive with.
I can't tell which is the girl car and which is the guy car, yet Shijie believes both cars are in a lovingly committed relationship. I must remind you that she sees this from Knuckles perspective, and Buckles and I have quite a different take on it. We often find Knuckles parked next to one of the many other minis in the garage. When questioned, Shijie counters that they are "just friends."
I would more accurately describe their relationship as "it's complicated." It seems Knuckles only lets Buckles get close when it desperately needs something - like a jumpstart - after which, Knuckles often finds itself back near a shiny blue mini within a matter of minutes.
After Buckles has been "friend-zoned," there is always an inevitable period of soul-searching accompanied by long drives off into the Arizona desert and lone ski trips to Colorado.
Eventually Buckles will make its way to an abandoned industrial complex, have a moment of spiritual enlightenment, and realize that Knuckles fickleness and lack of commitment is not the worst thing in the world for it.
Both cars have their ups and downs. Buckles has sub-par air conditioning, Knuckles has a clutch that slips occasionally. Perhaps they are more like step-children, and they must both learn to like each other, because Shijie and I will be bringing them to many more family functions for a very long time.
Knuckles for her 2005 Mini, because the curves in the hood slightly resemble the back of a hand, and the fist-clenched way we drive it. Buckles for my 2004 R32, because when you get in you must fasten your seatbelt. As a used car, Knuckles is an incomprehensible adopted child that Shijie feels she must learn to nourish and keep safely protected. The R32 - now Buckles - has been my most trusted companion since late 2004, but it lacked the necessary requirement of automatic shifting for a car to learn to drive with.
I can't tell which is the girl car and which is the guy car, yet Shijie believes both cars are in a lovingly committed relationship. I must remind you that she sees this from Knuckles perspective, and Buckles and I have quite a different take on it. We often find Knuckles parked next to one of the many other minis in the garage. When questioned, Shijie counters that they are "just friends."
I would more accurately describe their relationship as "it's complicated." It seems Knuckles only lets Buckles get close when it desperately needs something - like a jumpstart - after which, Knuckles often finds itself back near a shiny blue mini within a matter of minutes.
After Buckles has been "friend-zoned," there is always an inevitable period of soul-searching accompanied by long drives off into the Arizona desert and lone ski trips to Colorado.
Eventually Buckles will make its way to an abandoned industrial complex, have a moment of spiritual enlightenment, and realize that Knuckles fickleness and lack of commitment is not the worst thing in the world for it.
Both cars have their ups and downs. Buckles has sub-par air conditioning, Knuckles has a clutch that slips occasionally. Perhaps they are more like step-children, and they must both learn to like each other, because Shijie and I will be bringing them to many more family functions for a very long time.
Life as a honey badger
Blake got me a pink honey badger T-shirt for Christmas. This T-shirt summarizes how he perceives his lovely, docile, obedient future wife:
"It just takes what it wants."
Pretty much true.
We were in Vegas for three days. We lived in a pyramid-looking building, ate some remarkable meals, worked our leg muscles, spent a significant amount of time in H&M and Zara, and substituted bedtime reading with a new episode of Alcatraz.
In addition, like every lovey-dovey couple, we fought over our philosophies of humanity. This is a fundamental divide between us. Blake is someone who would warm frozen rose petals "with [his] bare hands" according to his outdated blogger profile. I, on the other hand, is a honey badger, and according to the youtube voice man, I would eat a cobra and don't care.
Blake believes people should be treated--first and foremost--kindly. I believe people should be treated--first and foremost--fairly. Blake's operating assumption is that a stranger can do no harm. My operation assumption is that a stranger can be just as dangerous. Blake hates when people get hurt, for whatever reason. I hate when people take advantage of others, for whatever reason. He is a scientist-engineer who works with a group of young and not-so-young dreamers and aspires to save the world one day. I would soon enter an industry that thrives on breakdown of relationships and complaints of misery.
Different as we are, I admire his capacity to trust, give, forgive, and forget. I look up to him as my better half and secretly wish to make emotional connections with people as effortlessly as he makes it seem to be.
And Blake consults me (or I just volunteer my unsolicited advice) as to how to say no to people without feeling extremely guilty before and afterwards. He sees me as a curious observer of the dynamics of human interactions. He trusts my judgment, unless it is based solely on unverified Chinese urban legends. He relies on me to whip him into doing his paperwork and explaining the fine print on various forms that he probably shouldn't be signing. He used to call me "funny girl." Now he just calls me "HONEY---badger."
But I am not a true honey badger yet. I am not thick-skinned enough to emerge unscathed and maintain a good appetite after being stung "like a million times." And I cannot run backwards in slow motion.
I will continue to be fierce, and in a human way.
Thank you Babe.
"It just takes what it wants."
Pretty much true.
We were in Vegas for three days. We lived in a pyramid-looking building, ate some remarkable meals, worked our leg muscles, spent a significant amount of time in H&M and Zara, and substituted bedtime reading with a new episode of Alcatraz.
In addition, like every lovey-dovey couple, we fought over our philosophies of humanity. This is a fundamental divide between us. Blake is someone who would warm frozen rose petals "with [his] bare hands" according to his outdated blogger profile. I, on the other hand, is a honey badger, and according to the youtube voice man, I would eat a cobra and don't care.
Blake believes people should be treated--first and foremost--kindly. I believe people should be treated--first and foremost--fairly. Blake's operating assumption is that a stranger can do no harm. My operation assumption is that a stranger can be just as dangerous. Blake hates when people get hurt, for whatever reason. I hate when people take advantage of others, for whatever reason. He is a scientist-engineer who works with a group of young and not-so-young dreamers and aspires to save the world one day. I would soon enter an industry that thrives on breakdown of relationships and complaints of misery.
Different as we are, I admire his capacity to trust, give, forgive, and forget. I look up to him as my better half and secretly wish to make emotional connections with people as effortlessly as he makes it seem to be.
And Blake consults me (or I just volunteer my unsolicited advice) as to how to say no to people without feeling extremely guilty before and afterwards. He sees me as a curious observer of the dynamics of human interactions. He trusts my judgment, unless it is based solely on unverified Chinese urban legends. He relies on me to whip him into doing his paperwork and explaining the fine print on various forms that he probably shouldn't be signing. He used to call me "funny girl." Now he just calls me "HONEY---badger."
But I am not a true honey badger yet. I am not thick-skinned enough to emerge unscathed and maintain a good appetite after being stung "like a million times." And I cannot run backwards in slow motion.
I will continue to be fierce, and in a human way.
Thank you Babe.
Outrageously happy
I came across a Peanuts comic a couple days ago. Charlie Brown was chatting with Linus about the future. It went like this:
Charlie Brown: “Do you ever think about the future, Linus?”
Linus: “Oh yes ... all the time.”
Charlie Brown: "What do you think you’d like to be when you grow up?”
Linus: “Outrageously happy!”
Borrowing Linus' words of wisdom, I thought "Be outrageously happy" is a good way to start the new and last semester in law school. Even though most of the time, the excitement of (another) new semester's resolution will eventually wane and give way to the mighty weight of trivial anxiety attacks.
Blake and I went on a spring retreat in Madera Canyon. We coiled on couches in a nice homey farm house and woke up to the fragrance of a hearty breakfast prepared by Cindy. We roasted a train of hotdogs over a beautifully blazing campfire and protected our faces from the strong radiation behind a citadel of chair barriers. We played volleyball, which was but a variance of dodgeball for me. We watched horses strutting around in their elegant hoof-steps, felt the hot breaths of these gorgeous animals, and also heard these beasts blowing their noses loudly in open defiance of the weird species that suspiciously resemble the lowly monkeys. We read Bible verses in some precious private moments, even though I attempted to flap my youngster wings and follow Blake the mother goose whenever possible.
And also, we exchanged secret nods and handshakes with all the new and old GCF couples. It is a horrible generalization, but EVERYONE is getting married or having babies or taking someone home this year.
Literally, everyone.
To all the happily married, happily engaged, happily single, happily in love, and happily still-looking people out there, be outrageously happy.
And also, happy outrageous birthday Carol!
Charlie Brown: “Do you ever think about the future, Linus?”
Linus: “Oh yes ... all the time.”
Charlie Brown: "What do you think you’d like to be when you grow up?”
Linus: “Outrageously happy!”
Borrowing Linus' words of wisdom, I thought "Be outrageously happy" is a good way to start the new and last semester in law school. Even though most of the time, the excitement of (another) new semester's resolution will eventually wane and give way to the mighty weight of trivial anxiety attacks.
Blake and I went on a spring retreat in Madera Canyon. We coiled on couches in a nice homey farm house and woke up to the fragrance of a hearty breakfast prepared by Cindy. We roasted a train of hotdogs over a beautifully blazing campfire and protected our faces from the strong radiation behind a citadel of chair barriers. We played volleyball, which was but a variance of dodgeball for me. We watched horses strutting around in their elegant hoof-steps, felt the hot breaths of these gorgeous animals, and also heard these beasts blowing their noses loudly in open defiance of the weird species that suspiciously resemble the lowly monkeys. We read Bible verses in some precious private moments, even though I attempted to flap my youngster wings and follow Blake the mother goose whenever possible.
And also, we exchanged secret nods and handshakes with all the new and old GCF couples. It is a horrible generalization, but EVERYONE is getting married or having babies or taking someone home this year.
Literally, everyone.
To all the happily married, happily engaged, happily single, happily in love, and happily still-looking people out there, be outrageously happy.
And also, happy outrageous birthday Carol!
2012 luxury
2012 is the year of dragon.
Blake went along with the dragon theme and revealed the first of my Christmas gifts during my finals, The Girl with The Dragon Tatoo. I finished the book and then watched the David Finch movie. Both were good, not great. It has such a dark and twisty storyline, and I had nightmares afterwards. I always prefer good stories with a brighter outlook.
On our way home, I finished The Hunger Games. That's what I call an easy read. I actually enjoyed the pace of a cliche I-am-oh-so-so-confused teen love triangle. It also reminded me to salute Harry Potter, a true literary giant.
I managed to end 2011 on a fierce note. I went skiing for the first time and hurt my tailbone when someone ran into me from behind. I dropped onto the ground and cried for 20 minutes straight. It was an epic moment when I was tolled away by the ski patrol, like an illegally parked car waiting to be claimed and driven home.
I started 2012 in a full working mode. And so did Blake, rolling out of bed at 8 AM and working straight into midnight, and eating hot wings in between. Occasionally, I had to take one tiny break for wedding brainstorming on his behalf. Inevitably, the exceptions swallow the rule. I ended up spending many hours experiencing modest to extreme adrenaline rush on Modcloth.com. At least I found dress and shoes for the bridesmaids. That's one remarkable accomplishment worthy of a Times Square-scale celebration in itself.
As to the wedding, things are coming together. If they are not coming together now, they will come together eventually. If they still don't come together eventually, no one will remember anyways.
For the new year, Blake got me two fitness orbs, clearly projecting that he needs an immense amount of unconscious exercise. We may have to take some pilates lessons to make our core areas look super photogenic in the wedding pictures. On the other hand, I am slightly concerned that our cores may look too good that they steal the entire show. Oops. Sorry people.
Growing up, I never even tried to picture what my wedding would be like. It is like you go search for a document under the "wedding" tab in my memory index but only to disappoint yourself with the discovery of an empty folder.
To the skeptics in me, finding someone to love is difficult enough. Everything past that is all luxury.
2012 is, by definition, more than a luxury.
It is a miracle.
Blake went along with the dragon theme and revealed the first of my Christmas gifts during my finals, The Girl with The Dragon Tatoo. I finished the book and then watched the David Finch movie. Both were good, not great. It has such a dark and twisty storyline, and I had nightmares afterwards. I always prefer good stories with a brighter outlook.
On our way home, I finished The Hunger Games. That's what I call an easy read. I actually enjoyed the pace of a cliche I-am-oh-so-so-confused teen love triangle. It also reminded me to salute Harry Potter, a true literary giant.
I managed to end 2011 on a fierce note. I went skiing for the first time and hurt my tailbone when someone ran into me from behind. I dropped onto the ground and cried for 20 minutes straight. It was an epic moment when I was tolled away by the ski patrol, like an illegally parked car waiting to be claimed and driven home.
I started 2012 in a full working mode. And so did Blake, rolling out of bed at 8 AM and working straight into midnight, and eating hot wings in between. Occasionally, I had to take one tiny break for wedding brainstorming on his behalf. Inevitably, the exceptions swallow the rule. I ended up spending many hours experiencing modest to extreme adrenaline rush on Modcloth.com. At least I found dress and shoes for the bridesmaids. That's one remarkable accomplishment worthy of a Times Square-scale celebration in itself.
As to the wedding, things are coming together. If they are not coming together now, they will come together eventually. If they still don't come together eventually, no one will remember anyways.
For the new year, Blake got me two fitness orbs, clearly projecting that he needs an immense amount of unconscious exercise. We may have to take some pilates lessons to make our core areas look super photogenic in the wedding pictures. On the other hand, I am slightly concerned that our cores may look too good that they steal the entire show. Oops. Sorry people.
Growing up, I never even tried to picture what my wedding would be like. It is like you go search for a document under the "wedding" tab in my memory index but only to disappoint yourself with the discovery of an empty folder.
To the skeptics in me, finding someone to love is difficult enough. Everything past that is all luxury.
2012 is, by definition, more than a luxury.
It is a miracle.
Good job me
Finally it is the end of the semester! Looking back, it has been a pretty good semester. I am super grateful.
Highlights include (in a proximate chronological order):
-Hard earned a driver's license which was pretty much a miracle to me
-Started this blog and actually worked on it
-Progressed slowly and steadily through Arrested Development and realized Buster and I are essentially the same person
-Got jobs lined up to nourish my sugar mama instinct
-Woke up to swarms of Asian carps attacking the boat on the Illinoi River
-Caught the technology bug and got myself a leapfrog upgrade (before: a 6-year-old Nokia 6020; after: a dumb Suri that discriminates against my accent)
-Camped with my rugged optics hunk who got me my first pair of hiking boots
-Got lucky and will have my first publication EVER
-Won a $5 Starbucks gift card for signing up at a dysfunctional legal research website
-Finally dressed up for the Halloween in a totally unrecognizable fashion
-Passed the Multistate Professional Responsibility Examination after almost missing the exam because I could not find the testing center
-Played a minor role in a skit on lawyering ethics and got two fancy free lunches for my trivial brainstorming contribution
-Skipped an Estate and Trust class and did not regret for a single bit
-Channeled my inner badass RA
-Went to Bible Study consistently to play with the host's dog-like cat
-Made unsightly super-sized Chinese dumplings that claimed its roots in American mutation
-Received a random scholarship, which was probably based on the wedding cost estimate I submitted
-Joined the headless crowd on Black Friday at the Scottsdale Fashion Square
-Toured Sedona with the family and leapt across six harmless streams with audacity and agility in the very hiking boots the optics hunk bought me
-Sponsored all the energy drink purchase for the optics hunk with my RA money to bribe him into loving me unconditionally
-Watched a host of good and bad movies, lots of Chopped, and a healthy dose of reality crap; also, newly fell in love with Ryan Gosling and Conan O'Brien (who had to come after the optics hunk and Steven Colbert, unfortunately. Damn the first-in-time hierarchy!)
-Survived five finals and perfected my cramming technique to a new level (but what was I thinking at the beginning of the semester anyway?)
-Loving the optics hunk with a burning PASSIONNN and feeling blessed all the time
Among the sweet feats and pleasant surprises, I also recently learned that my dad's business partner, Mr. Bill Jones, passed away right before Thanksgiving. He was a kind and generous soul. My dad, Blake, and I stayed on his beautiful boat(s) in August and had a spectacular time there. God bless Bill and his family!
(Bill and my daddy bear, who was being cute unintentionally)
Now it is time to read for leisure, shun frozen Kashi entrees until next year, give some thought to (finally) arranging a dental appointment, and actually start to take baby steps toward our futuristic wedding (which is in the future anyway)!
Highlights include (in a proximate chronological order):
-Hard earned a driver's license which was pretty much a miracle to me
-Started this blog and actually worked on it
-Progressed slowly and steadily through Arrested Development and realized Buster and I are essentially the same person
-Got jobs lined up to nourish my sugar mama instinct
-Woke up to swarms of Asian carps attacking the boat on the Illinoi River
-Caught the technology bug and got myself a leapfrog upgrade (before: a 6-year-old Nokia 6020; after: a dumb Suri that discriminates against my accent)
-Camped with my rugged optics hunk who got me my first pair of hiking boots
-Got lucky and will have my first publication EVER
-Won a $5 Starbucks gift card for signing up at a dysfunctional legal research website
-Finally dressed up for the Halloween in a totally unrecognizable fashion
-Passed the Multistate Professional Responsibility Examination after almost missing the exam because I could not find the testing center
-Played a minor role in a skit on lawyering ethics and got two fancy free lunches for my trivial brainstorming contribution
-Skipped an Estate and Trust class and did not regret for a single bit
-Channeled my inner badass RA
-Went to Bible Study consistently to play with the host's dog-like cat
-Made unsightly super-sized Chinese dumplings that claimed its roots in American mutation
-Received a random scholarship, which was probably based on the wedding cost estimate I submitted
-Joined the headless crowd on Black Friday at the Scottsdale Fashion Square
-Toured Sedona with the family and leapt across six harmless streams with audacity and agility in the very hiking boots the optics hunk bought me
-Sponsored all the energy drink purchase for the optics hunk with my RA money to bribe him into loving me unconditionally
-Watched a host of good and bad movies, lots of Chopped, and a healthy dose of reality crap; also, newly fell in love with Ryan Gosling and Conan O'Brien (who had to come after the optics hunk and Steven Colbert, unfortunately. Damn the first-in-time hierarchy!)
-Survived five finals and perfected my cramming technique to a new level (but what was I thinking at the beginning of the semester anyway?)
-Loving the optics hunk with a burning PASSIONNN and feeling blessed all the time
Among the sweet feats and pleasant surprises, I also recently learned that my dad's business partner, Mr. Bill Jones, passed away right before Thanksgiving. He was a kind and generous soul. My dad, Blake, and I stayed on his beautiful boat(s) in August and had a spectacular time there. God bless Bill and his family!
(Bill and my daddy bear, who was being cute unintentionally)
Now it is time to read for leisure, shun frozen Kashi entrees until next year, give some thought to (finally) arranging a dental appointment, and actually start to take baby steps toward our futuristic wedding (which is in the future anyway)!
Love awkwardly
I am constantly amazed at how wonderful you are.
You teach me something new, something good, something healthy, and something to be cheerful about with each passing day.
Thank you for letting me feel comfortable in my own skin and also inspiring me to be a better person.
I will continue to dance my awkward dance and love my awkward love.
You teach me something new, something good, something healthy, and something to be cheerful about with each passing day.
Thank you for letting me feel comfortable in my own skin and also inspiring me to be a better person.
I will continue to dance my awkward dance and love my awkward love.
Munchkin wisdom
It was David's birthday on Tuesday. There are many remarkable things about this individual, a number of which are particularly endearing.
He is from Minnesota and loves spam. He wears a viking helmet to celebrate his Swedish heritage. He bikes like a maniac. And he and his French girlfriend Cecile are the most intensely antagonistic couple during board games.
For his birthday, Cecile made cupcakes that perfectly captured the different terrains in a map of Catan.
The rest of us who are not as culinarily gifted honored this important day with an epic game of Munchkin.
In the middle of this game, Zach--who was short on role-defining cards--unleashed his dissatisfaction:
"You are a master wizard and thief and cleric super munchkin halfling. But what am I? I don't have a race OR occupation. I have no job, and not even a race to be discriminated against so that I can get a job."
You mean affirmative action?
But still, well said, Zach. Welcome to the 99%.
He is from Minnesota and loves spam. He wears a viking helmet to celebrate his Swedish heritage. He bikes like a maniac. And he and his French girlfriend Cecile are the most intensely antagonistic couple during board games.
For his birthday, Cecile made cupcakes that perfectly captured the different terrains in a map of Catan.
The rest of us who are not as culinarily gifted honored this important day with an epic game of Munchkin.
In the middle of this game, Zach--who was short on role-defining cards--unleashed his dissatisfaction:
"You are a master wizard and thief and cleric super munchkin halfling. But what am I? I don't have a race OR occupation. I have no job, and not even a race to be discriminated against so that I can get a job."
You mean affirmative action?
But still, well said, Zach. Welcome to the 99%.
Halloween already?!!
Halloween? November already?
Last weekend, the optics hunk and I took on an uncharacteristic challenge of party-hopping. We started with my firm's attorney retreat in Scottsdale. We were nervous about our 50s' outfit choice. Before we stepped out of our hotel room, we patted each other on the shoulder: at least we tried. But it turned out that we were among the handful of people who actually dressed up for the rooftop party. Also much to the delight of the optics hunk, he got compliments for being "really cute." So I paraded him around like a prize pony.
Remind me again, how did he shake off the bowl-cut, geek swirl glasses, and knee-high socks and mature into such a fine, good-looking young man?
Thank me again, and my impeccable taste.
After a night filled with Elvis quivers and unorganized dancing, we stopped by our favorite restaurant in Phoenix, Chino Bandido. Back in the old days, I was a follower of Guy Fieri's carb porn show the Triple D. Owned by an interracial couple, Chino Bandido was one of the diners Guy visited during his Arizona road trip, and it featured an unusual fusion of Chinese and Mexican comfort food. We first visited the place in March 2010, after a late flight from San Francisco. To fill the Brad-Nelson-Iris-shaped holes in our heart, we braved through a rare storm in Phoenix and arrived at the place.
That meal was cheap, fulfilling, warm, and delicious. The Chinese-Mexican combo reflected exactly how the optics hunk and I ate on a daily basis: he got his burrito, I got my bowl of rice, no cheese. We parted ways in our eating habits, but we also stole bites from each other's plate in a semi-savage manner often known as sharing.
After we paid pilgrimage to our shrine, we headed to our second-round of wholesome partying, at my host mom, Carmen's place. Carmen is one of the most inspiring persons I know. She has a big heart, travels extensively, and radiates sunshine into other people's lives.
I knew Carmen through a host family program, International Friends. A few weeks after I got in Tucson, I received a call from Carmen, a judge in town who decided to take me after seeing my name--a lone law student--on the list waiting to be loved and included. I did a similar program in college and thought it was just a welcoming formality, as I had dinner with that family once or twice and then never heard from them again. Based on that experience, I did not see how International Friends would be any different, but I signed up anyway, desperately wanting to meet people. And luckily, Carmen picked me and became a powerful presence in my life. She not only showed me around to get to know Tucson better, but also taught me how to embrace and love Tucson, and its wonderful people. She restored my faith in the goodness of people.
Finally, after my dark and twisty days in the depressingly gloomy New England, let there be light, Tucson!
It was a woefully short stay at Carmen's party. Every year, Carmen's party grew bigger and bigger. She has such amazingly positive energy, and people are naturally drawn towards her. The optics hunk and I left to make room for the incoming crowd, driving to our next destination, a dinner party at his friend, Manal's house.
I adore a low-key get-together like this, where people from diverse backgrounds simply relish in good food and good conversations. That feeling of tangible connection with other individuals--in our commonality of differences--makes me feel warm from the inside.
I always complain that I hardly have any Chinese friends. I don't quite fit in the Chinese way, but I don't fit in other ways either. In the end, I think I am becoming a country of my own, raising my own army, setting up my own defense, and putting down my own safety net. Do I miss that bonds with people from my country? Oh yeah, very much so. In my dreams, I could see clear and blurry faces from my high school, wearing that same hideous-looking uniform, speaking in that same dear voice, and laughing that never-ending laugh for the same lack of reason.
But I have always been too proud, too busy, too stubborn, and too critical--too much for a Chinese girl. In my mind's eye, I can see my parents doing chest-bumps and victory dance at home right now, celebrating and exclaiming: thank God/Budda/all deities in the world, finally a taker from the brave wild West!
The last stop was the optics party. The optics hunk dressed as Gob, his favorite character from The Arrested Development. He donned a suggestively translucent and half-buttoned white shirt that truly revealed his credentials as the optics hunk. I was supposed to be his ambiguously British sidekick. He downloaded the Final Showdown to his Iphone as entrance music, practiced the awkward dance moves and forever-failing magic tricks, and even thought about rolling around a Segway.
We thought we would be a huge hit.
We were wrong. People at that particular party were ill-informed of the infamous characters from the show. We exchanged a sympathetic glance with the similarly underrecognized Tobias in snakeskin flare pants. Later we found out that at a graduate mathematics party somewhere else, 15 people coordinated their Arrested Development looks.
But still, not a bad way to end the night.
The next morning, we bid an official farewell to our short-lived glamorous Lindsay Lohan way of life. I spent a holy day doing a writing competition, and then started a week of eye-gorging exam studying. The optics hunk went back to his power point monkey mode, churning out overly meticulous slides to prepare for a conference in Austin.
Also, for those of you who had no clue who the optics hunk is, that's Blake. Not the Blake Lively Blake, though.
Last weekend, the optics hunk and I took on an uncharacteristic challenge of party-hopping. We started with my firm's attorney retreat in Scottsdale. We were nervous about our 50s' outfit choice. Before we stepped out of our hotel room, we patted each other on the shoulder: at least we tried. But it turned out that we were among the handful of people who actually dressed up for the rooftop party. Also much to the delight of the optics hunk, he got compliments for being "really cute." So I paraded him around like a prize pony.
Remind me again, how did he shake off the bowl-cut, geek swirl glasses, and knee-high socks and mature into such a fine, good-looking young man?
Thank me again, and my impeccable taste.
After a night filled with Elvis quivers and unorganized dancing, we stopped by our favorite restaurant in Phoenix, Chino Bandido. Back in the old days, I was a follower of Guy Fieri's carb porn show the Triple D. Owned by an interracial couple, Chino Bandido was one of the diners Guy visited during his Arizona road trip, and it featured an unusual fusion of Chinese and Mexican comfort food. We first visited the place in March 2010, after a late flight from San Francisco. To fill the Brad-Nelson-Iris-shaped holes in our heart, we braved through a rare storm in Phoenix and arrived at the place.
That meal was cheap, fulfilling, warm, and delicious. The Chinese-Mexican combo reflected exactly how the optics hunk and I ate on a daily basis: he got his burrito, I got my bowl of rice, no cheese. We parted ways in our eating habits, but we also stole bites from each other's plate in a semi-savage manner often known as sharing.
After we paid pilgrimage to our shrine, we headed to our second-round of wholesome partying, at my host mom, Carmen's place. Carmen is one of the most inspiring persons I know. She has a big heart, travels extensively, and radiates sunshine into other people's lives.
I knew Carmen through a host family program, International Friends. A few weeks after I got in Tucson, I received a call from Carmen, a judge in town who decided to take me after seeing my name--a lone law student--on the list waiting to be loved and included. I did a similar program in college and thought it was just a welcoming formality, as I had dinner with that family once or twice and then never heard from them again. Based on that experience, I did not see how International Friends would be any different, but I signed up anyway, desperately wanting to meet people. And luckily, Carmen picked me and became a powerful presence in my life. She not only showed me around to get to know Tucson better, but also taught me how to embrace and love Tucson, and its wonderful people. She restored my faith in the goodness of people.
Finally, after my dark and twisty days in the depressingly gloomy New England, let there be light, Tucson!
It was a woefully short stay at Carmen's party. Every year, Carmen's party grew bigger and bigger. She has such amazingly positive energy, and people are naturally drawn towards her. The optics hunk and I left to make room for the incoming crowd, driving to our next destination, a dinner party at his friend, Manal's house.
I adore a low-key get-together like this, where people from diverse backgrounds simply relish in good food and good conversations. That feeling of tangible connection with other individuals--in our commonality of differences--makes me feel warm from the inside.
I always complain that I hardly have any Chinese friends. I don't quite fit in the Chinese way, but I don't fit in other ways either. In the end, I think I am becoming a country of my own, raising my own army, setting up my own defense, and putting down my own safety net. Do I miss that bonds with people from my country? Oh yeah, very much so. In my dreams, I could see clear and blurry faces from my high school, wearing that same hideous-looking uniform, speaking in that same dear voice, and laughing that never-ending laugh for the same lack of reason.
But I have always been too proud, too busy, too stubborn, and too critical--too much for a Chinese girl. In my mind's eye, I can see my parents doing chest-bumps and victory dance at home right now, celebrating and exclaiming: thank God/Budda/all deities in the world, finally a taker from the brave wild West!
The last stop was the optics party. The optics hunk dressed as Gob, his favorite character from The Arrested Development. He donned a suggestively translucent and half-buttoned white shirt that truly revealed his credentials as the optics hunk. I was supposed to be his ambiguously British sidekick. He downloaded the Final Showdown to his Iphone as entrance music, practiced the awkward dance moves and forever-failing magic tricks, and even thought about rolling around a Segway.
We thought we would be a huge hit.
We were wrong. People at that particular party were ill-informed of the infamous characters from the show. We exchanged a sympathetic glance with the similarly underrecognized Tobias in snakeskin flare pants. Later we found out that at a graduate mathematics party somewhere else, 15 people coordinated their Arrested Development looks.
But still, not a bad way to end the night.
The next morning, we bid an official farewell to our short-lived glamorous Lindsay Lohan way of life. I spent a holy day doing a writing competition, and then started a week of eye-gorging exam studying. The optics hunk went back to his power point monkey mode, churning out overly meticulous slides to prepare for a conference in Austin.
Also, for those of you who had no clue who the optics hunk is, that's Blake. Not the Blake Lively Blake, though.
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