Grateful

It’s Thanksgiving again! I love that it comes every year. This year I was lucky enough to go to Mexico with the relatives on my dad’s side. We had a wonderful relaxing, enjoyable time. I have a lot to be thankful this year, but here is a brief list of my top favorites in no particular order.

1. The atonement of Jesus Christ
2. Music
3. My internship—it has been fun, exciting, educational, and the people have been wonderful to me
4. My higher educational opportunities
5. My testimony of the gospel
6. The Book of Mormon
7. My parents. I lucked out majorly there
8. My siblings—some of the best people I know
9. Not being a vegetarian. Yay for delicious meat!
10. Living in America—I love it here
11. My BYU BS degree (bwahaha it’s so fun to have a degree called BS. I majored in BS haha)
12. Being able to play the piano
13. My guitar
14. Being a baptized member of the church
15. Colors. Think how boring the world would be in black and white!
16. My grandparents (both sides)—they took such good care of me
17. Being from Texas—it is the best place on the planet
18. My car that has done such a good job of taking me all over the country when I needed her to
19. Texas—our adorable dog
20. My computer that makes life so much easier
21. Dark chocolate
22. Raisins
23. Dark chocolate covered raisins
24. Chocolate chip cookies when they are warm and gooey
25. Automatic washers and dryers
26. Institute—lots of good memories there
27. My amazing Spokane friends who I still miss
28. Living in the MASH house—what fun we had!
29. My mission
30. Shrimp cocktails
31. Having enough to eat
32. Running races for fun
33. Christmas time
34. A break and a chance to go home for the holidays
35. The Spirit that guides my life
36. Prayer
37. The temple
38. Curly hair that is so easy to fix and take care of
39. My aunts and uncles and cousins that I finally have a chance to get to know better
40. A knowledge of the plan of salvation
41. My patriarchal blessing
42. Hot chocolate in the cold Washington winter
43. Big Texas style rainstorms
44. Dogs (but not cats—sorry for my ingratitude)
45. Piano lessons that my parents practically forced me to take
46. Good books
47. Time to read good books (or at least listen to them as audiobooks)
48. Technology to listen to and make audiobooks
49. Earrings—I feel so much more feminine wwith them on
50. Eternal families
51. The New Testament
52. The Old Testament
53. The Doctrine and Covenants
54. The Pearl of Great Price
55. The living prophet
56. The priesthood restored again to the Earth
57. Living in a place that is warm for the winter with no ice on the road
58. French toast—my favorite artery-clogging breakfast
59. Good eyesight so I don’t have to worry about glasses or contacts
60. Sunshine
61. Professors who have helped me get through grad school so far
62. Friends who are helping me find a place to live
63. The internet. What did we ever do without it?
64. Being in a profession that I love (am I allowed to say profession when I’m still in school?)
65. Genealogy chuck full of amazing people who I hope will be satisfied with the way I keep their name
66. Tulips. My favorite flower ever
67. Fuzzy socks
68. The covenants I have been blessed to make with baptism and in the temple
69. Comfortable beds—I do so much better with a good night sleep
70. Animals—they are pretty fun
71. Zoos full of fun animals
72. My body that is able to take care of me
73. Laughter
74. Smiling
75. Moltrin. What did people do before they had moltrin?
76. Mascara cause otherwise I would look like a boy
77. Fish—somehow having something small and insignificant that depends on me for survival makes my life seem so much less pathetic
78. Chick flicks
79. Living in a time and place where women can get an education
80. My amazing life! I am so very blessed!

Yay for holidays. I hope everyone had a holiday almost as good as mine :) I really have so much to be grateful for.

Because sometimes life turns into a big happy mess

So this one is cheesy and the rhymes are fair at best, but I wrote it between talks at stake conference last week because my life is wonderful but nothing at all like I planned. Bwahaha.

The Gardener

A current bush--a simple plant
but oh the tale it tells
of when with love the gardener
inflicted great travail.

For through the sun and wind and rain
the bush with all its might
had through exhaustive energy
improved both breadth and height.

The bush, once meek and unnoticed
became a sight to see.
For all who saw admired
the aspiring current-tree.

The bush-tree grew to balking size
its trunk was stout and strong,
its leaves were round and plentiful,
its branches thick and long.

The bush's height was impressive,
its width expansive too.
Never mind that the current berries
grew bitter, dwarfed, and few.

Until one hard defining day
--the day the gardener came--
the bush was pruned and slashed and cut
leaving sticks and twigs and shame.

And then, in prickly pining pleas,
with sticky sappy sighs,
the bush implored the gardener
in crinkled craggy cries;

"How could you do this to me now?
this isn't what I planned!
I did not put my effort forth
to be cut down at your hand.

I believed you loved me.
You promised me your aid.
And you've always been so generous
with water, food and shade--

I've worked so hard to grow and bloom
I long to be a tree"
the gardener said in quiet tones,
"You should not counsel me.

I am the gardener here," he said,
"I bought you at great cost.
My dream for you is greater still
than the one you say you've lost.

I know its hard to understand
I know you may not see,
but my vision for you is greater far
than any meager tree."

So when you feel cut down and beat,
and life gets out of hand--
remember, He's the Gardener
and He has greatness planned.

Chapters

What exactly do we mean when we say "chapters of our lives"? I was told recently that the Spokane "chapter" of my life is now over and it's time to move on to the Arizona "chapter". Eventually, barring the possibility of failure and death, the schooling "chapter" will wrap up as well leading me into what some call the "career chapter".

What does that mean, though? What exactly are they talking about? I find the idea of closing and opening sections of my life as easily as you might close and open sections of a book ignorant at best and insulting if I'm feeling grumpy or hormonal. Rather than stay obediently in strictly defined parameters each supposed bite-sized chunk of life oozes and spits to muddle the previous ones and color the upcoming ones to the point that the whole thing resembles a watercolor illustration left out in the rain than a carefully compartmentalized book with sections.

How, for example, can I be beginning my "Arizona chapter" when I lived here for all of my pre-teen years? How can I hope to open a brand new chapter when every time I pass the exit for Val Vista Drive I see the ugly stucco house with 2 and a half levels where two of my sisters were born and where I use to practice the piano at 5 am on school days? Or an even better question is how do I neatly close the "Washington chapter" when so much of who I am is a direct result of what I learned there and the individuals I met and interacted with and the effect their friendship had on me? How would shutting that section even be helpful when I spend so much time sneaking backwards to re-read my favorite parts of that chapter, to remind myself what I did right and warn myself of the mistakes I made so I don't make them again. Does looking forward mean I need to turn my gaze eternally from the direction I came from? Never before have I felt so much sympathy for Lot's wife and her brackish demise.

I think a better metaphor for my life would be to call each section a movement in a symphony. My life, after all, is composed by the greatest Master there is, even if my ability to play the suggested notes leaves me dreadfully dissonant at times. All the same, I think at least for me the way things actually work is not so much a chapter that closes up nicely to prepare for the next adventure but a confusing but exciting set of melodies and rhythms that pop up again and again in each section of varying length, tempo, and style. Each section builds on the last creating a complicated cohesiveness with indistinct overtones of familiarity and promise for the future. The Spokane movement may have met its double bar line, but the chords and cadences created therein were too beautiful to disappear forever and are sure to be found interwoven in the next melody created for Arizona--one that is already riddled with echos and phrases I remember from my childhood. I am excited to see how the harmonies weave together this time.

Rejuvenated

I don't usually do churchy posts, but this one kinda busted out of me. Plus I think all two people who might possibly read this are pro-church anyway. : ) Either way, you will get no apology from me. I speak the truth and it makes me happy. That's it.

I love the gospel! I have a tradition of reading the Book of Mormon every summer and I finished it yesterday. What an amazing message of hope in the face of tragedy that is. We learn from the Brother of Jared and his barges that no matter what, God won’t leave us to Saten if we are doing our best. Abinidi, Amulek, and 3rd Nephi show that no matter what the world does to us, Christ will stay beside us (to the bitter end if needs be) as long as we allow Him to do so. King Benjamin teaches us that love and obedience really are the most important investments we can make with our time. Moroni is proof that no matter how lonely we feel, there is one who will not leave us to ourselves. Both Almas teach that no matter how far we think we have fallen, there is always one who thinks we are worth the work to retrieve us. What peace that is! What an amazing message! This time that seems to us so long is but a passing dream to Him—one that we were eager to take on even knowing the risks, because we knew it would be worth it. We can do this! He will make the impossible possible if we do what we can, no matter how small that offering may be. His word truly is living water! His message is a fresh breeze on a hot stuffy day. Truly, sweet is the peace the gospel brings!

Hormones

I am sorry to write one of these, but I feel like both genders should be warned about the evil inside of almost every female. Granted, for the most part these are annoying signals we can override when we are well fed and happy, but if we are overly stressed, especially sleep-deprived, in an unstable physical or emotional state, or otherwise off-kilter or skawampus in any way suppressing the internal messages yelling “Be Crazy! Be Craaazzzyyy!!!” once each month becomes more difficult to ignore than it should be. Please don’t misunderstand—I am excessively annoyed by myself and anyone who tries to blame lingering grumpiness, inconsideration, or persistent griping on their estrogen cycle. All I mean is that occasionally, I am reminded that I am indeed a female with unfortunate mood swings that, in humiliating moments of weakness, hijack my better judgment.

Today for example, I’m not even sure what set me off. I was sitting in Relief Society listening to a well-prepared lesson and all of the sudden I found myself hunched against a wall in the excruciating Texas heat crying all my makeup off. After about four noisy minutes of soggy saltiness I shook myself off, stood up, and walked back into the building, my moment of insanity over almost as soon as it had come. Weird. Sometimes being a girl definitely has its drawbacks.

Pulling away from the havoc my endocrine system wracks on my self-control, life is wonderful. I passed my test! I am almost ready to start out on my internships and prepare to enter the real world. Being home is amazing—my sisters are my best friends ever (which is lucky cause hopefully I get to keep them forever) and my parents are as supportive and wonderful as they always have been. As always, there are moments of unexpected disquietude but in general being home is as wonderful as I dreamt it would be, and between you and me my imagination is colorful enough to make that quite a feat indeed.

Halfway to Crazy!

This is what my brains look like right now. I will survive this test, right?

I hate hating... and lots of other things

Feelings suck. I am a creature of logic and decisions—a scientist who thrives on facts, reason, and consistency. Emotion, by its very nature, is opposite of everything I function best on. Unstable, unpredictable, frustrating, and volatile—emotion is something I can’t control, and therefore it is something that frightens me. I think my biggest complaint with feelings and emotion is that they complicate decisions after I have carefully made them. Decisions are something I take very seriously, I make them after lots of thought, time, and preparation and I almost never go back on a decision after I finally make it. Emotions, on the other hand, jump in and try to bamboozle every logical thought I can come up with. It is extremely frustrating.

Fear, for example, usually results in one of two reactions—either I go into a frenzy of uncontrolled activity or I am virtually paralyzed into inactivity even when my path is set before me. It tangles my thoughts and blows up any challenges until that is all I can see. Fear is not something I can control. I know logically that fear is a vice—a burden even; but still I can’t seem to dump it when it enters my head. Like a parasite, it eats away at my determination and composure while tainting the world around me into something I cannot face with poise. I am a happy kid, but I am scared to death of a year of internships. I think it’s the huge unknown and the idea of leaving everyone and everything I have come to love about Spokane behind forever. This smallish fear soon mushrooms into something I don’t know how to handle. It opens an endless pit of what-ifs and why-nots and by the end I am a homeless old maid of eighty seven with no friends, no skills, and an unexplained fungal infection all over my left cheekbone. Bottom line—I hate being afraid.

Fear, however, isn’t the only emotion that drives me crazy, though I think it is certainly one of the worst. Guilt is another one that drives me a more than a little bit batty. Guilt is admittedly a good motivator, but it is also a festering acid that distorts my own view of myself. I think the worst part of guilt is that I sometimes have a nasty habit of imposing its cankerous presence without appropriate stimulus. I invite guilt when I haven’t done anything wrong which is stupid (yet another emotion I am far too familiar and disgusted with). This is especially true when others are involved. Even if I do my best to do everything logically and in the best way I know how I find myself full of guilt when those I care about are hurt, whether or not it is my fault. Again, I can often recognize that guilt is yet another unnecessary, unhelpful, and unwanted emotion, but I am yet to master the art of purging said emotion from my system. I can distract myself with music, scriptures, or homework, but guilt ekes back in like a toxin until I find some way to deal with it. Again, some guilt is both necessary and essential in helping me to be more of the person I hope to be someday, but all the same, I wish it was an emotion I can control and harness better to work for me instead of against me so stinking often.

Unfortunately, the list doesn’t end with fear and guilt. Sadness, homesickness, anger, frustration, inadequacy, and exhaustion are all emotions that get in my way and try to warble my reason. If I am being completely honest with myself I am a little nervous about attraction as well. Attraction, it may be argued, is not actually an emotion, but it is certainly a nasty force that usurps control in my otherwise carefully controlled mental system. Excitement and anxiety too, can alter my thought process, causing me to make decisions like writing on my blog instead of studying for my test or playing the piano like I had scheduled to do. Haha and that makes me feel shame—yet another abhorrent emotion.

I guess my point is that while I know logically emotions are a wonderful necessary part of the human experience, they are also annoying and I wish I had better control over them.

Independence Day!

Wow. What an amazing country we live in! I know I take for granted the huge blessings in my life, so it is nice every now and then to sit down and contemplate just how blessed I am. I, a woman with no outstanding talent or aptitude, am allowed to be educated, trained, and then practice in the field of my choice. I am able to live where I want, move when I want, dress how I want, and vote as I see fit. Best of all, I am able to believe whatever I want--I am encouraged to put my trust in God and seek the truth. It is a beautiful thing. Yesterday as I watched the fireworks explode across the sky in brilliant fires of purples, reds, and greens I was reminded again that this priceless gift, like so many others in my life, came at a great cost to men, women, and families I will never know. It came because good men did good things in hard situations. Because people stood by their principles when it was neither convenient nor logical to do so. It came because God needed this land to restore His gospel and He made the impossible happen so that could take place. It is true that we have our problems. Hungry men with cardboard signs, a national debt so big I can't even begin to conceptualize it, and lingering racism and hatred all testify of that. Still, I cannot think of any place I would rather live. This is, after all, the promised land.

Fireworks

The fire burning in the sky
that glitters in the smoky dusk
and blinks and cracks and fades away
calls out earnestly to us.

For once the fire, whistles, and booms
were not for entertainment plied
but snarling after men and boys
fields painted red and thousands died.

“And now,” they boom, “your turn has come
Freedom’s banner is yours to wave
that the world may know forevermore
here is still the home of the brave.”

“But how can I?” is my return,
“For I am raw and young and weak
what can I ever do for you?
Surely it isn’t me you seek!”

But loud and clear peals the report,
and deep down in my heart I hear
to fight for liberty and love
Is duty for all who now live here.

So in my struggling sapling state
I make a promise to the sky
I’m not brave like my fathers were,
but I too will fight till I die.

And when the blaze fades in the night
the cheering crowd is rained in dust
I smile at the sudden dark
and whisper, “in God will I trust.”

How to Hawk a Loogie

First of all, yes, I am suppose to be studying. That, of course is not new so no worries. In other news, I have decided today that there is far too much information available to the world at large. For example, while running down a busy street on mile five I was reminded that among the many skills I lack, I do not have the knowledge nor the ability to remove the phlegm that works its way from my sinus cavities, down the back of my throat and sticks like peanut butter over the little hole that is ideally reserved for transferring air to the suffering lungs of said masochistic runner. Instead of turning my head and sending the projectile into the grass like a cool looking runner I stand on the sidewalk like an idiot doing my best to scrape the goop off my tongue as it dribbles down my chin and the cars and people passing by speculate who the sad spectacle might be.

Like the savvy student (if not the sophisticated spitter) that I am I determined to do my research to delve deeper into the subject. Urbandictionary.com describes this action this way: hawk a loogie--to suck in nasal material into the throat and then push into the mouth to make it material available to spit out. A more medical definition also available online includes the following, this time spelled "how to hock a loogie": The combined sound of snorting hard a paranasal tubercular sinus oyster from nose to back of throat then adjusting position by teasing it around the soft palate prior to firing forcefully from mouth. Upon further investigation I found fifteen videos on youtube, almost three thousand step by step directions on google, and even discovered that there is a South Park character named Loogie. The point, however, is that I can now gain enough information on any given subject (say, how to hawk a loogie) that without any skill or ability whatsoever I can be educated to way beyond any sensible level--almost enough to be called an expert without any real life experience. Isn't that ridiculous? Well, rather than harp on or educate myself further in useless subjects I think I will try and get some real-life experience with forcefully expectorating excess mucus and phlegm before it succeeds in cutting off my oxygen supply.

Lost Again. Grr.

I love driving--always have. My dad would say I'm not very good at it--that I'm a little too impulsive, that I lack a little common sense, and that I'm not quite as cautious as I probably should be. That being said, I love driving. That being said, I am absolutely terrible at following directions. I get lost so often that often when I call home in the middle of the day mom asks where I'm at so she can look me up on mapquest and find the best directions to where I need to go. I get so mixed up and turned around, but as my frustration levels rise my sense of direction (if it's even possible) gets even worse and I am even more lost than before--this time with even less patience. So I drive faster, with even less caution, going farther with even less care than I had before.

For example, today I was looking for an apartment complex for visiting teaching--not a single apartment mind you, but an entire complex. It was one I had been to several times, and I was of course running late, so rather than look up directions like I usually do I decided to just go for it. Like I said, I have been there several times so I figured I could just get there. I almost don't even need to say it, but I got lost. Really lost. What should have been a 10-15 minute drive turned into a thirty minute excursion where I ended up in a neighboring city and had to completely reschedule our appointment for later that day. How one loses an entire complex I am still not sure.

I feel sometimes like life can be like that when we aren't careful. Having such a fun time getting wherever we are going that we don't care too much about where exactly that is or the path we are taking to get there. Frustrating all around, I suppose.

Easter

This year I prepared for Easter by reading about the last days of Savior’s life as close to the corresponding days as I could figure—something I hadn’t done before. It turned out to be an extremely spiritual experience. I felt closer to Him than I have in the past, not just because the season is so focused on Him but because I felt like I spent more time with Him as He prepared for His destiny. I felt a little bit of guilt as He asked His disciples if they couldn’t wait up for Him. How many of His messages and requests have I inadvertently ignored? How many times has He had to give me the same instruction and I didn’t follow it? How many times have my actions told Him and others that I denied knowing Him like Peter did? I felt His love as He washed His disciples’ feet and told them to love and serve one another. I felt His love for Mary as He spoke her name—how must she have felt?

More than anything though, studying the atonement this way made it more significant. I often wonder what I was doing as a Spirit while the atonement was taking place. I’ve always pictured the whole hosts of heaven watching in overwhelming gratitude, helplessness and apprehension as that the most significant of all events unfolded. I wonder if I felt guilt for the sins I hadn’t even committed yet as I watched my beloved Savior’s pain as he paid for them. He is my Savior. Christ suffered all for me and my family and everyone I will ever meet. His love is perfect and endless, His character bright and unvarnished. He is the ultimate example in every aspect. His love for me is something I will never be able to earn; His love for others is something I will never be able to perfectly emulate.

How grateful I am for my testimony of Him that forms my actions, beliefs, dreams, and behaviors. If there is anything good about me at all, it can all be tied back to Him and His gospel. He loves me. This is something I still can’t really wrap my head around—that a being such as He could love someone like me, but I know He does because I feel it. I feel it when I read His words, when I hold a child, when I admire His creations, when I try and follow His words. And I felt it 2 weeks ago on the anniversary of His triumph over death and sin.

Top reasons why chocolate is better than men

1- Chocolate treats me the same no matter what shape I am in.
2- I’m yet to meet a chocolate piece I didn’t like. Unfortunately the same can’t be said for men.
3- I don’t feel the need to dress up or get pretty for a date with chocolate.
4- Chocolate always seems to want me.
5- I always seem to want chocolate.
6- Chocolate doesn’t play games. It is what it is, it always tastes like I want it to, and it never makes me guess what is going on.
7- It seems like chocolate can read my mind. If I want to eat it, it is there for me to eat. If I don’t want to deal with it, it leaves me alone.
8- Chocolate is never racist or offensive. It loves all colors : )
9- I have never waited for chocolate to call. Not once.
10- Chocolate doesn’t care if I shave my legs or not.
11- I can enjoy chocolate in whatever form I wish--cookie, drink, ice cream topping, pure, etc.
12- Chocolate never wants to have DTRs.
13- Chocolate doesn't care if I admire other abdominal pieces.
14- Chocolate is consistent. Thank goodness for preservatives.
15- Chocolate doesn't prefer my sister or use me to get to her. It likes me just the way I am.

This is just a joke, used to kill time and avoid homework. All the same, I LOVE chocolate! Yay! (PS- I do like men and think they are wonderful, just in case there is any... offense or question haha).

KPOP. Yes, I'm afraid I've caught the bug.

I’m a bit ashamed to say it, but recently I have discovered Korean pop culture; specifically the dramas and pop music. Basically Korean dramas are Asian soap operas of 20ish (usually less) hour long episodes and the pop music mostly consists of single singers who are either constantly foolishly cheerful or moodily depressed or boy bands. The boy bands are usually a patchwork of baby faces and wild hairstyles doing synchronized dance moves that would be ridiculed to scorn anywhere else. There are several reasons for my fascination with them, and I will list them one at a time in excruciating detail.

Firstly, I love hearing the Korean. The language is beautiful and complex—like a math puzzle that you have to concentrate on and piece together carefully before it makes any sense. Learning it was one of the most confusing and frustrating things I have ever tried to do. Even now I can’t honestly say I understand all of the words they say, but I do catch many of them and that makes me happy, and there are English subtitles for the rest. Just hearing them speak my beloved language brings back many happy memories. I am happy happy happy to be here in the beautiful United States, but sometimes I miss Korea so much I can almost smell it. Hearing the language is a happy kind of ache that reminds me it wasn't a dream--that I really was there during some of the happiest and most miserable days of my life. Until I found this corner of the entertainment world I had almost forgotten how much I love hearing the language’s swells, rhythm, and cadence. It’s not quite like being back in 안양시 or 잠실역 but it is pretty close.

Next, the plots, music videos, drama characters, song lyrics, and soundtracks are all deliciously cheesy—we are talking cheddar cheesecake with Velveeta sauce level here. The music is epic — whole orchestras that swell with each little and each dramatic event (and there are plenty of those). The facial expressions of the boys as they watch the girls hugging other guys from a distance contain almost the same expressions as they do when they are adamantly expressing their love to these same girls. The way tears course down the porcelain cheeks of the girls at least once per episode reminds me a little of water streaming from a faucet. All in all, I find myself giggling in delight at the varied and wild reactions to a lost hairpin, broken glasses, an accidental wrist bump, a shared dish of ramen noodles, and an angry response. If people in real life reacted that way we would lock them up, but instead people spend time and money to watch people do it on television. It makes me laugh a lot. The lyrics to the songs are almost as good. Singing about how his one-sided love for a girl ripped his world apart, or how her boyfriend proposed with high heels, or how breaking up was the worst decision made in his family for five and half generations, and the list goes on. This stuff is too good to miss. Like regular cheese, the more you eat the more you want, but the deeper in you get, the more weird curd you find.

Thirdly the romances (both the ones shown on the dramas and the ones portrayed in the songs) are absolutely unbelievable. Guys never fall for normal girls that hard; at least not ordinary girls without lots of money or without really good looks. I’m pretty glad that is not the case as it would make idiots pathetic idiots of a whole slew of otherwise really attractive men but all the same it is very true. The same, of course goes for girls. Dramatic endings of relationships is the same. Breaking up with someone is not the same as getting a deadly disease or losing a friend to death. Granted, I lack experience, but all the same, I refuse to believe that emotions even go that deep—especially when they are dealing with relationships that are fleeting at best. That is part of the magic though. Watching the enfolding of situations and relationships that could never exist in the real world is delightful in an almost tangy way. It makes my petty problems seem so much smaller when I compare them to a gorgeous girl who happened to grow up running from the law and camping in tents wherever she could and now is rejected by the family of her beloved because of a mole on her left shoulder that means she might have been a beaver in her past life. After all, entertainment is best found in impossibilities.

Lastly, everything is unbelievably clean. Perhaps I shouldn't say everything, as I am sure there are dark sides to their entertainment as well, but the little bit I have seen has all been colored with the extremely conservative Asian values. The kissing is what my sweet sisters would call downright unsatisfying as the girl stands like a board and the guy almost accidentally face bumps her. The one or two bad scenes I did see ended and picked up when the characters were fully clothed (with the exception of maybe a topless man with beautiful abdominal). Perhaps they swear, I couldn't say there--I never really learned those words as a missionary. The songs too whether telling of love, being happy, being in love, or just playing with words are all innocent as far as I can tell. It is a refreshing change from American media which often resorts to skin to manufacture emotion.



In the end though, I think it is the combination that makes it work. Just like carrots, tomatoes, and cumin are all disgusting by themselves but make a delicious soup, epically cheesy music, clean but unbelievable plots, and dramatic characters all portrayed in one of the planet's most beautiful language combined make for happy endings worth watching. So to my enduring shame but unbridled happiness, I will continue watching and listening to them. In the words of one of my new favorite 슈퍼 주느열 songs, Life couldn’t get better! I am both embarrassed and delighted by my new hobby.

Victory

I recently discovered that I can unwrap a star-burst in my mouth. This makes me mischievously happy. That's all.

It's a Small World After All

In a desperate effort to numb my mind to the reality that my football team just lost their spot in the playoffs to a wildcard team I thought I’d tell the funniest story of my winter vacation which really began when I was sixteen years old.

About two months after my sixteenth birthday both my best friend and I were ready to go on a date. Wearied by the complaints of expense and disappointment of dating in general we set out to prove them wrong and go out our current crushes at the time. We practiced calling said chosen boys then proceeded to do so and the planned a date around a dinner murder mystery in a box. The date was naturally a hit, and so began my enjoyment of the boxed murder dinner things. I did another in drama class in high school and two more while in college and even one here in Washington—all were fun. So when I was in a half-priced bookstore and saw one for three dollars I bought it even though it was taped shut, assuming I could replace or get along without any missing parts. I took it home, opened it up, and to my delight and surprise found I had come full circle and bought the very same box my friend and I had used on our first date almost ten years ago. There were sheets of paper with our names on it and the boy’s names circled in pink hearts. Like a lucky penny. I shall have to pick very carefully the next guy to invite to the night of murder.