I want a nice chinese boy who can converse in chinese from a nice chinese family. A nice boy with a nice paying job, a nice sedan car and nice leather shoes. A nice boy to have nice conversations with and to have a nice life with.
Oh wait, that's what my mother desperately wants for me actually.
Face it, if someone says it's nice, they are just sidestepping being rude because nice really means boring. Boring can be very nice, it means no heartbreaks, no tears shed and no confrontations. But I don't want to yawn through life, so sorry mother, I don't want just a nice life.
maybe the nice boy will be alright if he wore these glasses
Out of nowhere, I've grown a hungry passion for reading biographies, especially those about strong women in developing countries. When I think about what would be in my biography, I realized that it would be blank. I've never done anything life changing, I've never been a political prisoner, I've never even gone to a protest, I have just led a mediocre life. I'm currently reading "Prisoner of Tehran", a story about Marina, who was given a life sentence to the Evin prison at the young age of sixteen. She never thought she would be given the death sentence for speaking her mind, neither have I. She never thought she would be given a life sentence to prison, neither have I. She never thought she would be lashed at her feet countless times, neither have I. After almost twenty years of silence, she has finally spoken out about her story to raise awareness. Her resilience has given strength to so many women out there. After finishing the book, I'm glad that the New York Times would rate my biography as mediocre and boring.
painting from here
My aunt informed me that today was Chinese Valentine's Day and that she hopes I'll be going out tonight. Yes, of course I'm not going to be staying at home tonight, because I plan on staying out all night at WORK, bloody work.I failed to post the following on the actual western V-day.And so today is valentine's day. The day where all the singletons, including me pretend it's just any other day. We trudge on pretending we didn't even notice it is the fourteenth of february. If anyone asks, we have already a long spiel rehearsed in our heads about how it is a completely overrated hallmark holiday created by the over egotistical marketing bastards.I'll let you in on a secret, either subconsciously or not, we are checking our phones, facebook, email twice as much. Hoping, wishing, praying that some fantastical miracle will happen and your story will end in a happily ever after.I think it's safe to say that tonight I will be curled up on the couch with the one I love the most, my mommy and possibly some sappy love movie. Notebook, anyone?Here's a toast to all the singletons out there. That night I stayed home, curled up in front of my computer figuring out dreamweaver. Quite a productive night, I must say...
image from here
My name is J and I have Asian hair syndrome. If I ever decided to live in the wilderness as a nudist, my hair would be as flat as a pancake and as greasy as Chinese take out food. Not really a pretty sight. But with my numerous years of experience with the mop on my head, I have perfected my routine. Washing my hair nightly with horse shampoo without fail so that just enough oil builds up in the morning, applying volumizing serum and blow drying with my bristly round brush. But after all these years of having such an intimate and unhealthy relationship with my blow dryer, the bastard has finally turned my hair into a tangly straw mess. I am no longer in the prime of my youth where I wake up looking like I stepped out of an herbal essence commercial. There is an urban myth that a girl did not wash her hair for a month and was as greasy and smelly as fuck but when she did, she was that girl in the pantene commercial. I wouldn't want to stand next to her in an elevator but who doesn't want to flick their hair from side to side and have each strand move simultaneously together like synchronized swimmers! I'm not crazy enough to strip all my hygienic values, trample them with combat boots and throw it out the door but at some point, an intervention must be made. With high hopes of having hair that didn't look like it got into a bar fight with itself, I bought dry shampoo yesterday and I vow to wash my hair every other day. I will update with progress. this image has circulated for a while now but quite appropriate for this post
A hot pair of shoes can get my adrenalin pumping. Christian Siriano shoes for Payless Fall 2011. Fall cannot come fast enough.
Also there needs to be a rule that twelve year old children should not be wearing heels, at all! Have you not seen the bone that sticks out of my foot and the crustiness that is on my heel!!
source
Every morning I'm on the go train traveling from the 'burbs to downtown, hoping to blend in as an urbanite. And every morning it's a battle. running and huffing to make the train while trying to stay balanced on the stairs to avoid the cold. It's a battle to who can clamber onto the train first, up the stairs and find the best seat. One with an armrest, next to a window and preferably facing forward.
Finally I'm settled, armed with my newspaper and a promise that today I just might finish the crossword.
As we pull into the final station, I catch a glimpse of him. The boy with the hair. It's probably the tenth time we've caught each other's eyes and then quickly avert our gaze somewhere else. Pretending to be nonchalant. My specialty. When does it qualify as a missed connection? Should I now go craiglist crazy?
loving these missed connection illustrations
