Home Alooooooone

I don't like being alone.

I'm a people person.

I've been home alone for 4 days.

Ahhhhhhhhhhh.

I'm sitting on my couch.

And sitting.

And sitting.

I went to the mall. There were people there. I bought a dress and some snow boots.

I went to Barnes and Noble. There were people there. I looked at dating advice books. I wasn't brave enough to buy one. Instead I bought a Swedish horror book. Samesies.

I texted some people to see if they wanted to play with me.

They didn't answer.

Who wants to come play with me tonight? Or tomorrow? Or Saturday?

I think my roommates get back on Sunday... but I don't actually know.

I promise I'm a real good time. And I have some good games. And I can talk semi-inteligently about movies and the latest headlines.

And I bought a new dress that I can wear while we hang out!

I wasn't designed to be alone. I know there are people out there that prefer to be alone. I can't even imagine that. I always feel like they're lying. What do you even do when you're alone? I've read like 200 pages of my book and I've watched some TV and I'm currently blogging... but these are time-fillers. This is what I do when I'm waiting for someone to knock on my door with 2 tickets to see Ke$ha or something.

I should be able to entertain myself. I should get a hobby like knitting or cooking. I did buy a guitar! Maybe I'll pull that sucker out and be entertained for another 30 minutes. After that...

Someone had better be here with some Ke$ha tickets or there's no telling what will happen.

Belle is the BEST

So I didn't post for a long time. I feel bad about that, but the only reason I didn't post was because I couldn't think of anything entertaining to write about.

I tried to post about things like Britney Spears and pizza, but (despite the engaging subject matter) my posts fell flat. Boring. Dumb.

BUT! Just yesterday I had a whole slew of fantastic blog ideas. These should last for a little while.

Without further ado --

Why Belle is the Foxiest

I've got big opinions on Belle. She is perfect. I'm talking about Beauty and the Beast Belle. "This Provencal Life" Belle. Blue dress, white apron Belle. My idol in life.

Belle.

This all started a few years ago when I saw the Branjelina movie Mr. and Mrs. Smith. The movie responsible for the ending of Brannifer or Braniston or Jennipitt or Jennibrad Anistpitt.

Anyway.

The movie is fun and cute, filled with attractive people that make things explode. Excellent.

In this movie, Angelina Jolie (Mrs. Smith) isn't particularly feminine. She's not manly (like... she doesn't have armpit hair and a mullet), she just represents a very masculine perspective on what it is to be a "strong woman". At least that's what I think. My two cents. Clink! Clink! (those were pennies)

None of this really bothered me, though. She was still a strong female character who got things done. Whatev. There was one line, though, that really rubbed me the wrong way. At one point, Mr and Mrs are in their basement choosing their artillery to go combat their persuers. Brad gets a big gun. Angelina gets a small gun. She looks at him and says, "Why to I get the girl gun?"

Seriously, Angelina? Her comment could be taken two ways. Either the gun was small and wimpy so she nicknamed it the "girl gun" or it was a gun more often used by women and she didn't want to identify herself with that demographic.

Either way, it made me want to punch her face. No... then I'm no better than her and her "girl gun". I wanted to... what's a more feminine alternative? I wanted to... give her a dirty look. Cry in the corner? Am I doing more damage than good? Maybeeeeee.

Anyway... that's when I decided to have some feminist opinions.  But I didn't burn my bra just yet. I wanted to identify why Mrs. Smith bugged me. I started to think about a bunch of different women and how they're portrayed in the media. Was there a good example?

Then it dawned on me.

A pillar of light.

The pot of gold at the end of the skanky rainbow.

Belle.

Belle is the perfect example of a strong heroin. heroine? One of them is a drug. She's the one that is not a drug. A female hero.

HeroinE. Wikipedia says she's a heroine.

Anyway. She's totally strong and brave and kicks A, but she's also vulnerable and kind and nurturing. And she doesn't apologize for it. Her physical strength is no match for Gaston or The Beast, but she recognizes that her contribution to the universe is found elsewhere. She doesn't really have sex appeal or combat skills. She's got other things going for her.

My favorite part of the movie is this:

Belle is scared away by The Beast's surly demeanor and goes into the woods. She's attacked by wolves. The Beast saves her. But then?? She saves him right back. The scene after this is great as well because Belle nurses him back to health. She tends to his wounds. And she sasses him. Love it.

She's a strong female protagonist. But strong in ways that are often overlooked. Strong in ways that are sometimes considered weak or girly. Well you know what?? There's nothin' wrong with being girly! My friend Belle taught me that.

And let's not forget that it's Belle's love and strength and influence on The Beast that save the whole story.

So anyway... that's why Belle is my idol in life. She's just awesome. I don't mean to say that Angelina is the worst because I kinda like her and her foxy boyfriend and her foreign kids. But when you compare her to Belle? Really when you compare anyone to Belle....

Belle wins.

This gives me hope in life! Because no... I'm not very strong and no... I'm not very good at basketball and no... I couldn't shoot a target to save my life. Buuuuuuuut I'm funny-ish. And I like people. And I can dance pretty good. And I'm learning how to play the guitar.

Well... one of these days I'll find my contribution to the universe. And it'll be GOOD.

The Best Compliments Ever

Sometimes people say really nice things to me. They make me feel real good and special.

When I was on my high school track team, one of my teammates told me I was a good dancer for a white girl.

Best. Compliment. Ever.

I have found that my dancing gets things done. For example. One time I had a crush on a boy. We went to a dance. After the dance, he had a crush on me too. Done deal! I can be self conscious about my face or my body or my love of High School Musical 3, but when I'm dancing... I'm not self conscious at all. I feel totally myself.


When I was in high school, my aunt Patricia told me that I look more like Britney Spears every time she sees me. Great news for obvious reasons.

OK not really twins. But close? Eh??

When I was in elementary school, my grandpa told me that I was good at spelling. For some reason I took this to mean "You are a natural at spelling and don't need to worry about spelling ever again." So maybe this compliment caused more trouble than anything because I gave up on spelling (I was clearly awesome). It created a monster because I was an awful speller that thought I was an awesome speller. My classmates would come to me with spelling queries and I would confidently say the exact wrong thing.

Classmates: Asia! We're staying at the Sheraton Hotel, right? How do you spell that?
Asia: (with unshakable confidence) Aha! C-H-E-R-A-T-I-N
(bamboozled) Classmates: How wise you are.

Suckas.

Basically those are the nicest things I've been told in my life. Or at least some of the most memorable compliments I've received.

Thanks guys. You're the best.

Third Grade

Dear blog readers who are seething with upset-ness because I haven't posted in like.... forever,

Super sorry. Remember in my first week of blogging when I was all "Imma post every 6 hours!!!" And now I suck at posting regularly... Well it just all balances out now, doesn't it?

So it Christmastime! I'm in Colorado visiting my very first little nephew, Garret. He's a little prince.

Today I've decided to talk to you about 3rd grade. 3rd grade was a weird, weird year.

First of all, my teacher disappeared and never returned. It was a very strange thing. After about a month into the school year, Mrs. K was reaching up to point at something on a map, and hurt her back. She just kinda paused and didn't move for a moment. Then she walked out and another teacher walked in. Mrs. K never came back. She supposedly spent the rest of the year in the hospital, though I feel like I should be more suspicious... like maybe she was a Russian spy. Very likely.

We received a letter from her about half way through the year telling us that she missed us and telling us that she was ok. We went from substitute to substitute for the rest of the year.

Second of all, the students started disappearing as well. We started the school year with about 22 kids in our class. Then they started moving or transferring to other classes. We ended up with 17. A third-grade class of 17 was very small and very strange. Especially when combined with the fact that our teacher disappeared.

Third of all, that was the year after my dad died. He died in August and third grade began weeks later. Everyone was talking about their summers and I remember when Jeanette Moses asked me how my summer was. I said, "Bad." She said, "Why?" and I whispered to her that my dad had died. She didn't believe me. I let it drop. This was also the year that Melanie Somethingsomething told me that my dad had gone to hell. Screw you, Melanie Somethingsomething.

Fourth of all, this was the year when substitute number 6 said, "Raise your hand if you're left-handed!" I was the only one that raised my hand. I felt simultaneously super alone and super awesome. Awesome has won out.

Fifth of all, well.... I don't know if I have a fifth of all. Hopefully the first four points were good enough evidence to convince you that my year in third grade was strange strange strange.

The rest of elementary school was less weird for sure, though I was still a trouble-maker. In fourth grade, I cried and cried when my water bottle tasted slightly like soap. They sent me to the office and I had to call my mom about it. In fifth grade, I went sorta crazy when I got a little bit of paint on my uniform dress. I took it off and started to wipe it down with a wet sponge. I got yelled at and cried some more.

Looking back... it makes me want to call all of my elementary school teachers and tell them that I didn't grow up to be a serial killer. Dear Ms. Wakefield, Mrs. Liimaata and Mrs. Kumovai (sp??), I grew up to be just fine(ish). Sorry to worry ya!

Here's me in the 4th grade. Why do I look homeless? It was medieval day or something. I also played the recorder.

 I just remembered another third grade tid bit. We were in a recycling competition with the rest of the third grade classes. I wanted to win so bad that I started ripping unused papers out of my notebook and sticking them into the recycling. That's dedication. We won a pizza party. Boo yah baby.

Winter Layout

I changed the design. It is now winter-y. If you hate change a lot and you will stop reading my blog because you think my new background is too winter-y, then....


......


just.....


....

stoppit?

Change is good. As are you. Love you guys.

Word Verification

So you're just going along in life, hoping that good things are headed your way. You decide to visit your friend, internet. "Oh! Hey, internet! I think I would like to purchase this item/comment on this blog/sign up for this site that will email me a Garfield comic every Thursday at 3pm."

But internet is moody sometimes...

You: I would like to do this thing.
Internet: First... a little mind game. Type this crazy looking word.
You: Whaaa?
Internet: actiso
You: Internet.... that isn't a word.
Internet: sabram
You: Seriously....?
Internet: bromch
You: Bromch???

These are not words, internet. Don't call it "word verification" when really what you mean is "random letters areyouacomputer? verification".

The internet is a crappy friend; never believing that you're not a computer, speaking all kinds of nonsense, hoping you'll catch on and play its sick little game. You know what, internet??? The only sick game of yours I'm currently interested in is TextTwist.

What I like to do is confuse the internet -- the old "taste of your own medicine" routine.

Internet: alabines
Asia: sloopyboop
Internet: warib
Asia: freeeeeeeeeeeet
Internet: ewlonstl
Asia: Internet, you're not even trying anymore.
Internet: traberiu
Asia:    !  

.....low blow, internet... low blow.


This doesn't get me anywhere... as you can see. But I feel like I'm slowly chipping away at the smug smile that sits pretty on the electronic face of the internet.

Sucka.

Random Asia Fact #2: Inappropriate Announcements

I just wikipedia-ed "pwn" because I wanted to be sure I was using it correctly. I am. Also wikipedia told me that there is no proper way to pronounce "pwn". I'm just gonna stick with "pone" and hope for the best.

Pwn. Pwn. Pwn. I feel SO hip.


So here's random thing #2:

When I was young, it was proper etiquette to announce when you were getting in the shower so that other inhabitants knew not to use hot water (dish washer, washing machine, etc). This would ensure a nice, warm shower.

So every time I was going to shower, I would yell (very loudly) "GETTING IN THE SHOW-ER!" Then everyone would know and my shower would be pleasant and warm.

I didn't ever stop doing this. Even after our hot water heater was large enough to accommodate a shower and other hot-water activities. AND even when I left home for college.

I didn't realize it was strange until last year when I announced to my roommates that my shower would begin momentarily.

Roommates: Okee doke. ...Enjoy?
ASIA: Really you should care.

But they didn't.

This has also translated into other areas of my life. I feel like I should let people know when I'm going to use the bathroom. What if they need me for something and can't find me and think I've been kidnapped? If they knew from the start that I would be out of communication for a few minutes, it would put everyone's mind at ease.

People: WHERE IS ASIA??? WE NEED HER RIGHTNOWWW.
Uninformed person: OMG I DUNNO. Probably kidnapped and in the process of gnawing through ropes in the trunk of a car.
People: The humanity! She has the upper body strength of an infant! I hope her tongue is sharp enough to combat her captors with charisma and wit!

VERSUS

People: WHERE IS ASIA??? WE NEED HER RIGHTNOWWW.
Informed person: She has informed me that she is in the restroom. She will be with you momentarily.
People: Sweet deal, daddy-o.

Really it would be selfish for me to keep it a secret. I'm only thinking of you, universe.


SO. I posted on facebook a request for blog post ideas. Really... I liked them all. I'm going to incorporate them in my next few posts until I run out of them. Here's a suggestion from my younger brother, Zac: 

Well you've already covered HOLDMYSPOOOOOOOO, so I can't think of anything. Unless you want to write about how cool I am. Then I'm totally cool with that.

Zac doesn't realize that HOLDMYSPOOOOOOO was covered in a post I haven't published yet (about my brief stint as a Track and Field superstar... get excited). 

Sucker. 

But at his suggestion, I will tell you how cool he is: very. 

Very very.  For reals, though. If you aren't best friends with Zac yet, you should really get on that. 

Here's a limerick, as promised.

My mom is a bundle of fun

She had one girl and three sons

So I said, "Oh mother!

I only have brothers!"

And she said, "Zac is the best one."

She didn't really say that... It just rhymed so well.

My Bucket List

There once was a lady named Patty Hearst. She was the heiress to a huge fortune (the William Randolf Hearst fortune) and had a bright happy life ahead of her. Then she was kidnapped by some crazy radicals. Then she decided that she liked her kidnappers and became a crazy radical herself. Then she robbed a bank. Then she went to jail. Then she got out of jail and became a model/actress. Then she received a presidential pardon from Bill Clinton (his last presidential act).

You guys are probably like "She had Stockholm syndrome! She is the textbook example of it!"

But I'm all, "Stockholm shmockholm! She was living life to the fullest, homes!"

After reading about Patty Hearst on wikipedia, I decided that my life did not have to be hum-drum. People can say, "You can't rob a bank and be an actress and join some crazy radical group and go to jail and be pardoned by the president!" But they are wrong so I would say, "Whatev!" then show them this article.

Then I would show them my bucket list (see below, suckas!).

1. Rob a bank
2. Go to jail
3. Be pardoned by the president

These first three things I may have stolen from Patty Hearst's bucket list.

4. Use a Stryker pipe for its intended purpose

Ummm... I'm not sure if you're ready for this explanation or not.

5. Act in a movie

6. Be in a musical

7. Write an awesome movie

8. Meet Britney Spears

9. DANCE with Britney Spears

Maybe I could play Britney Spears in a musical about her life and career. That would be ideal.

10. Write an awesome song

11. Get married and have super precious babies

12. Make the world better by improving the self esteem of young girls who think you have to look like/have the talent of Taylor Swift to find happiness in life.

Not that Taylor Swift isn't superfly; she is.

13. Be an A+ grown up

Imagine this: I walk into an office full of people dressed in suits. I'm also in a suit. Then I take some documents out of my briefcase and start talking about amortization and tax brackets and insurance limits.

"Hmm dee hmm! I disagree with your assertion that health care has become too retrogradized! Ever since my family filed for a 34.5% bionic mortgage profile, we've seen great improvement in the state of our NASDAQ stock resumption!"

Ok... some of those words are made up. But you know what I mean. It's certainly an improvement on "Can I pay my rent in raisins?"

14. Teach a high school media class using my wit and entertaining stories from my eventful life

Eh?

Ehh??

This list has 14 items on it. So did yesterday's list. Hmm.

Anyway, it looks like a pretty full life to me.



OK. Maybe you are mature enough for me to tell you what a Stryker pipe is and why I want to use it...

When my daddy was at Brown University studying physics (I know, right?), he liked to invent things. One day he invented a device, the Stryker pipe, that made the smoking of marijuana really smooth and enjoyable. He then mass produced and marketed the pipe to his peers at Brown. You could get them by mail order and he had a little pamphlet explaining the special features of this pipe. It was pretty rad.

So using a Stryker pipe isn't drug use so much as it's family heritage.

Some are born great, some achieve greatness and some will die poor and alone. -- Shakespeare

This is an email I just got from my mom:

Hey Girl...Please fax a copy of your Allstate Dec page (front page showing car, eff date, name, coverages) to Bonnie at State Farm so they can cancel the State Farm policy. Love you!

Hmmmmmmm....

Based on my current status as an D+ Adult, this email freaks me out. BIG thanks to mom for giving me a brief explanation of what a dec page is. She knows me so well.

I've been trying to think of the necessary steps I would have to go through to accomplish this task and impress my mother. They are as follows:

1. Dig through a stack of papers in my room deemed "scary papers"
2. Cry when I can't find the requisite "dec page"
3. Call my State Farm agent and ask him to email it to me.
4. Receive reprimand from State Farm agent for not being able to keep track of things like dec pages
5. Cry in the corner for not being able to be an A+ Adult
6. Treat my sorrow by going to the kitchen for a treat
7. Find my dec page in my kitchen cupboard behind my shark-shaped fruit snacks
8. Get in a time machine and go back to 1994, when people used fax machines
9. Go somewhere on campus and look really frowny until someone tells me where I can fax my dec page
10. Find a fax machine
11. Try 843 times to fax the dec page
12. Receive a phone call from State Farm asking me why I sent the wrong page 842 times
13. Cry in the corner
14. Move back in with mom

From independent young woman to emotional heap of incompetence in 14 easy steps. I swear, sometimes I want to get married just so I don't have to worry about doing taxes.

One day. One day I'll be an A+ adult. It just may be when I'm 75.

Shh! Here's all my secrets.

Secrets.

I don't have any.

I'm an open book. A really really open book. Sometimes a bit too open.

Asia: Blah blah! All my thoughts!
Other people: Ummm.... thanks for that.

I've tried to have secrets because sometimes I want to seem mysterious and sexy. Like how Jessica Rabbit hides one eye behind her hair because her life is so mysterious.

Close, eh?


Eh??


Well I'm just not mysterious and I'll have to come to grips with that. I used to have secrets. I used to be embarrassed about stuff. What happened? I just stopped caring.

So I'm coming clean. The following is a list of things that I used to keep secret from others.


1. Sleeping in my mom's bed.

 When my dad died, I started sleeping in my mom's bed. I don't really know why it started. That was in 1996. This continued for the rest of, well, forever. I never went back to sleeping in my own bed. When we would have family come stay at our house, we would put them in my room. They would apologize for putting me out and I would just say something like, "Oh its no problem!" Little did they know that my bed was completely unoccupied except when company was staying over.

I would still use my room for other things -- playing with Barbies, reading, homework. I still got dressed and ready for the day in my own room. But when it came to sleeping, I was in with mom. For a little while, I tried to be a grown up and sleep in my own bed, but I just didn't like it. Mom was worried this would make it hard for me to sleep once I went to college. It didn't. I was fine.

When my brother's friends would come over and stay late -- like time-to-go-to-bed late -- I would go into my room, put on my jammies, wash my face, then sneak like I was doing reconnaissance work for the CIA over to my mom's room. Or I would make some weird excuse about why I'd be going into my mom's room when I was completely ready for bed.

ASIA: Oh! Well... I'm just headed to ask my mom a pressing question! Yes, despite the late hour, my question is quite pressing. So pressing, in fact, that I may be in there until you leave to go home. At that point, I will proceed to my own bed like a normal child.
Other people: [confused...]


2. Indiana Jones and Back to the Future

I have not seen any of the movies from either of these series. I used to lie about this all the time. Kinda like how I used to lie about having read The Giver, but I eventually just broke down and read it when I was like 18.

Well-read friend: OMG It's like that part in The Giver with the memories and the birthing mothers!!
ASIA: [What the crap? Birthing mothers?? That sounds disturbing.] Totally, friend! Loooove it!

I feel like Indiana Jones and Back to the Future are movies you're supposed to grow up with. If you grew up with them, dandy for you! I did not grow up watching them and putting them on as an adult just doesn't seem appealing to me. I know (more or less) what they are about and I've seen the iconic scenes on TV or Youtube or film classes, but I haven't seen any of them all the way through.


3. Play-Doh

I used to eat Play-Doh. I might still if I got the chance. I didn't eat it like ice cream or anything. It was only tasty in very small quantities. This will explain why the Play-Doh resources of my third grade class depleted so slowly.


4. Hot Dog buns


When I eat a hot dog, not only do I not put anything on it (no ketchup, no relish, no whatever else), I also don't eat the bun. Here's how I see it, the "hot dog" part of a hot dog is delicious enough. I don't want to add any additional flavoring to it and I don't want to dilute the taste by eating a huge piece of bread at the same time. I really like hot dogs. What can I say? I'm a fundamentalist.

This hasn't kept me from getting a bun, though. At most cook-outs I still put a bun on my plate and put the hot dog in it so as to avoid scornful glances from pro-bun people. But then I sit down, eat the hot dog and give the bun to a duck. Or the trash. Or just use it to get another hot dog.


There you have it, world! My dirty laundry out in the air! HAHA!

I've just realized... It may be that I don't have secrets because my life hasn't really taken any super dramatic turns. I've never kissed a boy that was dating another girl. I've never stolen anything or moonlighted as a can-can dancer.

I need to work on that. I'll try to make my life a bit more dramatic and mysterious. Until then... feel free to ask me whatever.

I have no shame.

How to NOT look like an idiot

So Christmas is on its way. Hooray!!

Now all of the people that cry innocent baby tears when someone plays Christmas music before Thanksgiving can rest assured that their special feelings will be intact until next November when those pre-Thanksgiving-Christmas-music-playing rascals come out from their caves to annually ruin lives. I salute you, Oppressive Thanksgiving Activists. Someone's gotta keep those Chestnuts from Roasting until it is appropriate to do so.

[Side note: My mother's dislike of "Chestnuts Roasting" has been conditioned into all of her children. None of us like The Christmas Song. Why? I don't actually know. I haven't asked in a while. It's just something Pavlovian in me that causes my gag reflex to activate when I hear about those wily Chestnuts.]

Unfortunately, this time of year is when I'm faced with two of my biggest word pronunciation fears.

Pecan and Caramel.

For some reason, these two delights come up in conversation a lot more at Christmastime than at any other time of year.

You've got 2 camps, essentially.

There's the PEE-can and CAR-mull group. And there's the pe-CAHN and KARA-mell group. I have not chosen a team. The PEE-can team seems like they were all raised in trailers and wear NASCAR t-shirts that are cut-off at the midriff. The pe-CAHN people seem like they are all named Pascal and wear blazers 24/7. I have not yet found my place.

For a while, I wasn't sure how to handle myself in situations where pronouncing these words was called for. I would just switch teams/pronunciations every other time I would say the word. This felt wrong and non-committal. People feel strongly about their pronunciations.

ASIA: The CAR-mull on this KARA-mell apple is delish!
The "I have picked a camp." guy: You are shameful.

Then they'd probably either say or think a cuss word at me. BUT! Now I have figured out how to cope with my inability to commit. Firstly, I try to avoid these words all together.

ASIA: Oooh! The gooey inside of this candy bar is delish!
Other person: [confused...]

It mostly works as long as you say it with you head held high, as if you are too important to remember the official names of candy bar ingredients. You are simply too busy hanging out with Coldplay and Vera Wang to bother with such things. The other coping mechanism is to pronounce it totally wrong -- but, here's the catch -- say it with an unidentifiable accent. Then it looks like you are funny and you don't have to explain why your funny-ness manifests itself with the British/Indian mispronunciation of Christmastime treats. You're just that cool.

ASIA: Oh, how I love a delish PEE-CAHN. Hmufmufmuf! [ <---- this is how you laugh with an unidentifiable accent]
Other person: Oh what a splash you are!

Hopefully you have good enough friends/associates that they would call you a splash when you're being one. Those people are hard to find. Cherish them. Cherish them this holiday season.

Life: Planned!

When I was little, Mom and Dad were like, "You can be anything you want when you grow up!"

I was like, "Sweet. I wanna be a bird."

They were like, "Umm... crap. We totally lied."

They then had to qualify their statement. Since then, I've been trying to find a non-bird aspiration that is as cool as the bird option. Mission: difficult.

Once I was 98% sure I couldn't be a bird, I decided I just wanted to be famous. However, I couldn't decide if I wanted to be a famous singer or a famous actress. Such decisions! I was clearly cut out for both paths. I merely had to choose which glamorous life better suited me. Sigh, the life of a superstar. Then, one shiny day, the clouds parted. I saw a J-Lo movie. I realized I no longer had to choose. If J-Lo could be both, then freakin' so could I.

This is me dancing at my brother's wedding. TOTAL same.

This was my aspiration for a long time. Super-singing-acting-double-threat-diva-stardom was my only goal in life until high school. In the 11th grade, I entered the Miss Mandarin pageant. I don't tell a lot of people about the Miss Mandarin pageant, but it was crazy times. Maybe it'll get its own post one day soon.

[I just realized that maybe some of you have no idea what "Miss Mandarin" is. I'm not Asian... despite the confusion you may get from my name and the name of my high school. In Florida, we name things after oranges. I went to Mandarin High School. Miss Mandarin was the high school beauty pageant.]

In the Miss Mandarin pageant, I had to talk about how much I loved volunteering and how I wanted to grow up to be a useful member of society. My dreams of being a super-singing-acting-double-threat-diva-star didn't really fit this mold. Especially since the other girls wanted to be doctors and news anchors and baby-savers.

I thought about it for 20 seconds and remembered that my oldest brother was having a blast studying journalism. That sounded fun.

Judge: What do you want to be when you grow up? How do you intend to rescue all the babies?
Asia: Journalism?

Needless to say, I didn't win nothin'. But it was a good experience.

Journalism continued to sound appropriately grown-up and sophisticated for the rest of high school. During the summer after graduation though, things changed again.

One day my brother was headed to auditions for a local movie so he could cover it for his college newspaper. I decided to come along. It was a movie about high schoolers being emotional. We both ended up auditioning. A few days later, I got a call. I had landed a lead role.

On set!

For a couple of weeks that summer, I was a movie star. I got to smack some dude in the face and pretend to be drunk and wear a pretty dress. The best part of that experience, though, wasn't feeling like a superdiva. It was being on set. I fell in love with the processes that happened behind the camera.

They never finished the movie, so (perhaps luckily...) no one will ever see my foray into acting. But this got the wheels turning in my head. I was going to BYU and I was going to study film. What was I going to do with film? No idea.

I started college and found a path. My life-long curse of being a super duper bossy pants finally came in handy. I was to be a UPM. So life provided a path for me. All was well with the universe.

So now I'm graduated and I need to figure out what to do from here.

[crickets chirping]

Two days ago I discovered Talent Quest, the national karaoke competition. I seem to remember a Gwyneth Paltrow movie where she made a living by travelling around singing karaoke. Sounds perfect. I don't need no record deal, American Idol. I just need the road, a MIDI version of "My Heart Will Go On", and a dream.

Life: pwned.

Random Asia Fact #1

Wanna know random things about me? You're probably sitting at home/work/library just itching to know the random minutiae of my psyche.

...No?

Too bad, I will tell you anyway.



RANDOM ASIA FACT #1:

I don't like cookies.

That's not true. I feel totally neutral about them.

I have no emotion on the subject of cookies.

I have eaten many cookies and I have enjoyed a few of them. I have also disliked some cookies. But the majority of them have no effect on me.


If someone makes me cookies because of my birthday/sadness/they forgot to visit teach me, I always appreciate the thought. I know that it's a really nice thing to make someone cookies. Having said that... I almost always give them away. Usually to my roommates.

Same thing goes with cakes and brownies.

For my birthday this year, one of my friends asked one of my other friends what my favorite kind of cake was. Friend 2 told friend 1 that my favorite kind of cake was pepperoni pizza. There was never a truer statement uttered.

Mama says I can't substitute wedding pizza for wedding cake but I say it's my wedding.

FIGHTS

Now that my first kiss story is done, I'm terrified that I will lose my readership. I don't have anymore exciting cliff hangers to keep you coming back. PLUS, it's probably now firmly solidified in your mind that I am mentally unsound, so you probably don't want to encourage my crazy by feeding my perception that you think I'm funny. Did that sentence make any sense?
Anyway.

So you've just exited Happy Romantic Blog mode and you're entering Dark Past Vigilante Blog mode. Welcome, suckers.

I'm keeping your interest by telling you about my fights. This is basically the opposite of my first kiss story.

Picture me as an 11-year-old. I was blond and skinny and had to wear plaid dresses with white knee-socks and saddle shoes.

Inwardly, though, I was a warrior. The was a storm a'brewing.



FIGHT #1: (ding! ding!)

I was a total punk in middle school. This was like 4 years after my dad died and I was medicated for a mental illness I didn't have. I was all kinds of messed up, perfectly prone to engage in some excellent hand combat.

I didn't have very many friends and I thought the world was full of people that hated me. One of these people was Murphy.

Murphy was the boy that everyone loved. He was really nice to all the girls, which was strange for 6th grader. He loved all of them but me. I probably deserved his hatred, though I can't think of any specific reasons at the moment.

One night we were in a Shakespeare play the school put on. Julius Caesar I think. After the play, a bunch of us went out onto the soccer field for no reason. Probably the reason was "It's like 10pm and the soccer field is dark and if we go out there we will feel like Batman or some other intense adult."

So we were out on the soccer field being all edgy and suddenly Murphy attacked me. Ok, I probably said something really mean or retarded and he was just acting out because we were on the soccer field at 10pm and anything is possible. I should get Murphy's side of the story because in his version, I'm probably the villain. But I'm a little scared to ask him about this because it was like 12 years ago and our limited interaction involved a fight...

So anyway, he just kind of came at me. I don't remember much except just trying to push him away. Midst all the flying limbs, I must have hit his nose because he was suddenly still and ran off into the darkness. The next day a few people came up to me in the lunch room and asked me about why I gave Murphy a bloody nose.

I don't even know if he actually had a bloody nose, but we didn't really talk about it again.

A couple of years ago, Murphy contacted me on facebook. He told me that he was really sorry about everything that had happened in middle school. It was really really sweet.

Relationship: mended.



FIGHT #2: (ding! ding!)

Fight number 2 was totally my fault. I started it. I finished it. It was all me.

I think this was the following year. One morning, my family woke up to discover that we had been robbed. It was super traumatizing. It still makes my stomach hurt to think about this. They had come up our driveway, entered our open garage, and taken basically everything out of my mom's minivan. Her purse, wallet and phone were included in the deal, along with like 300 CDs. The only thing left was the Santana CD that was actually in the CD player at the time. Anytime, I hear "Smooth" by Rob Thomas and Santana, I remember this stupid day.

At school the following Monday, I was still a bit moody about it. Someone asked what was wrong. I whispered to them what had happened. Some dork kid name Amir heard what I had whispered and shouted to our class, "Hey everyone! Asia was robbed!"

Then I decided that I needed to kill him. I got out of my desk, marched over to him, grabbed the back of his shirt and slammed him into a nearby desk. Once he was bent over the desk, trying to get his balance to stand up, I didn't really know what to do with him so I just went back to my desk and sat down.

The craziest part about all of this is... I don't remember where our teacher was. I didn't get into any trouble for it. This may have been right before class was supposed to start so people were just getting settled in the class room. I don't know.

A few months later, a boy named Jeremy told me he loved me. I didn't really know what to do with this information. He also said that he waited to tell me about his love because he was afraid that I was going to do to him what I'd done to Amir. I'd become a monster! But he was in love with me anyway.

Oh, middle school. Sigh.


SIDE NOTE: I don't remember if I've ever told my mom about these fights. Don't be disappointed, Mom! I grew up to be a dainty flower of a lady.

First Kiss Part VI: My First Kiss

If this is the first time you're reading my blog... this is a bad place to start. For the rest of you, here it is. The final chapter.


My First Kiss:
My oldest brother and I got in my little 2-wheel-drive jeep (I'm from Florida) and headed west.

We arrived in Utah 4 days later and I began my college experience. I lived in a tiny dorm room on the 3rd floor of a large dormitory tower. My bathroom was shared with about 20 other girls. It was a party.

I was meeting new boys and going on crazy adventures. I hiked the Y (worst. hike. ever.). I went to football, soccer and volleyball games. I ate Doritos for breakfast. I turned 18. Life was good. Strange, but good.

Thanksgiving approached. I couldn't afford to go home. To see how my Thanksgiving was, see my former post "Why I'm Scared of Mexican Food". It was bad.

Pretty soon it was time to go home for Christmas. I missed my Mama and was starting to wonder how people survived Utah winters. It was orange-picking season in Florida. I arrived on a beautiful sunny day before Christmas, hugged my Mama and began to tell my family of college life.

Christmas was wonderful, with a few tiny hiccups. I think this was the year our hot water heater decided to break and flood the whole house in a 2-inch-deep puddle. We opened the back door and began to sweep the water out with brooms. Mars and Zac sang pirate songs. Actually I just remembered that this was the year before the water heater incident. So there's a little freebie story for you.

Mars was on his mission in Argentina.

I reconnected with The Four (Ally, Caroline, Clare, Asia) at the Barnes and Noble Starbucks (that was/is the cool place to hang out) and we started talking about plans for New Years Eve. We were going to just have a chill little gathering at my friend Amy's house.

A few days before New Years Eve, I was hanging out with the girls and one of them let something slip. I don't remember the exact story and it was told second-hand anyway. So this is kinda like a game of "telephone" where the end message is nothing like the beginning one... but the essence of the story is this: While away at school, Alex was at a party or something. Someone made a comment to Alex about hooking up with some random girl. He responded with something like, "I haven't been waiting to see Asia for nothing." and abstained from interaction with Random Girl.

When I heard this, my stomach did a back flip. I was nervous and anxious and excited and omg he's been waiting to see me???

The day of New Years Eve, Alex came over. I mean, we were still friends and I hadn't seen him in a long time. This felt different, though. There was something there. A certain electricity. We went on a walk to the end of my street. At the end of the road, I tentatively set my hand in the crook of his elbow. He reached up and took my hand in his. I asked him if he was going to Amy's that evening. He responded that he would be there.

This is what my street looks like.


That night, me and the ladies rolled up to Amy's together. We took a bunch of pictures and lounged around for a little while. There was a good little group of us there including Alex and a few other random people from high school. I was just looking through photos on facebook to try to jog my memory of that night and it turns out there were more people there than I thought.

No matter.

Alex and I chatted like the friends we were and it seemed like a normal hang-out night. He was probably talking about Star Wars and I was probably laughing at him. Soon it was 11:00pm. Then 11:30pm. Then 11:45pm. It was beginning to feel less and less like a normal hang-out night. Something was going to happen. 4 years of pining and crying and pulling at leg hairs.

Something was finally going to happen.

[insert anticipatory music and maybe that clock-beeping noise from 24]


11:55

11:56

Alex went to the bathroom...

11:57

I started to get suuuuper nervous...

11:58

Alex came out of the bathroom...

11:59


..............10.............


..............9...............


..............8...............


..............7...............


..............6...............


Alex put his arm around me and held me close.


..............5..............


..............4..............


..............3..............


..............2..............


"New years kiss?"



And there it was. It was quick and small. Modest and shy. But it was a big deal. The previous 4 years of ups and downs were worth it. In that moment, he was mine.

When I got home that night, I crept silently into my mom's room. I nudged her gently to wake her. In the sleepy darkness of our home she whispered "Did you get it?" I smiled. "Yep."



That's the story. That was my first kiss.



I could go on to tell you about how we had a perfect 4-day romance before it was time to once again return to school. Those four days were like living in a dream. It was magic.

I could tell you about how Alex wanted to do a long-distance relationship and I thought that sounded too hard. I could tell you about how we called each other and sent each other CDs from across the country, but I started to become distant after a while. Alex could probably tell you a story about a cold and distant Asia that came to visit the following March. I still feel bad about that. She may have told him she just wanted to be friends.

But none of this matters now. What matters was that perfect moment in the middle of all the messy, complicated, badly-timed, poorly-executed, heart-broken frenzy. It was a moment of clarity. It was a moment of honesty. Love? I don't know. Maybe.

We've had our sporadic friendly contact over the years. Random visits and text messages. I started dating someone. It ended. He started dating someone. Lucky girl. No matter what, though, there will always be a special place in my heart for this boy. You've heard about my expert dating skills (or utter lack thereof) so you could see how something like this could leave a mark.

And indeed it has.

If you were to have Alex tell you about this, it would probably be completely different.

But that's my story.

First Kiss Part V: Senior Year (part II)

So... I'm sorry I didn't post this over the weekend. I just want everyone to be on the same page and some people don't look at their computers on weekends. People like me. But I posted something! So that's progress. My mom is funny, eh?

Just as a reminder -- there are six parts of this story. Tomorrow will be the exciting finale. Here's the rest of senior year.

Senior Year part II:
He didn't call.

Not the next day or the day after or the day after. I think I called him at one point and he said that he had forgotten to call me. We didn't speak again for the rest of the break.

When we got back to school, I didn't have any classes with him. We didn't talk for a few weeks. Months? Can't be sure. I was confused and becoming increasingly frustrated so any interaction we did have was probably terse and sassy. I went back to my people. He went back to his. Anyway, whatever we had shared during the first semester of senior year didn't carry over into the second. It was as if I had dreamed it all.

I just continued on with senior year -- trying to decide what college to go to -- trying to decide what I wanted to be when I grew up. This was actually when I decided that having mature job aspirations was not for me and I should probably look into something really impractical like movie making.

Prom approached. Alex asked some girl named Ashley. I went with my friends. By this point, I was in a pretty solid group of girls that came to be known as The Four. We weren't a mafia or anything... there was just four of us that were always together.

During prom, Alex and I shared a bittersweet slow song. I was so confused.

At one point I called him out on the whole thing. I just didn't want the awkward, unspoken confusion to continue. We spoke briefly. It didn't really help.

The end of the year approached; it was the end of high school. Yearbooks were distributed and Alex got a hold of mine, writing something simple and sweet. This was the straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak. I had to go cry in the bathroom like a lame girl in a lame scene from a lame Drew Barrymore movie.

I kept to my friends. He kept to his. It became increasingly clear that I wasn't going to get any sort of answer, so I figured out how to cope with that. I was confused and felt stupid, but my active frustration began to calm and I was able to think about him as a bittersweet memory.

Then something strange happened...

Right before graduation, one of my good friends started dating one of his good friends. This created an interesting rift in the patterns of the universe. My group of friends had expanded to include Alex and other handsome soccer players (you know who you are). I saw more of him. In large groups of random social interaction, we were both there. We slowly and cautiously became friends again.

[Insert happy montage of high school graduation. Everyone wore green.]

During the summer after graduation, our group continued to hang out and do stuff. Everything was a bit more relaxed. Alex and I became good friends -- like actual friends. It was really great.

Don't be fooled, though. As friendshippy as our friendship got, I was mentally still that 14 year old girl pulling at his leg hairs hoping it would give me a chance to hold his hand. Yes, even after everything that happened, this was Alex we were talking about.

The end of the summer came quickly and it wasn't long before I was packing my bags to move to Utah. Alex was going to stay in Florida -- as were 99% of my friends.

The night before I left to make the drive out to BYU, everyone came over.

We talked and laughed and tried not to think about what was actually happening. We tried not to have that stupid Vitamin-C song playing on repeat in the backs of our minds, but there it was. Then the end of the night came. It was time for everyone to go home. I hugged my friends; I don't remember if I cried. Then everyone -- Ally and Alex and the bunch -- got into their cars and left.

I remember crying then.

A few minutes later, in a moment of emotional exhaustion and total 17-year-old dramatic desperation, I sent Alex a text. Yes, a text. Say what you will...

"I love you, Alex."

A moment later I received a reply.

"I love you too."

Weekend

I'm gonna wait until Monday before posting the rest of my First Kiss story. To tide you over, here's a funny conversation I had with my mom a few years ago. I found it on facebook the other day:

Mom: Your little brother just called.

Asia: Yea?

Mom: He got a really good deal on some corduroy pants and a shirt.

Asia: Is that what you came over here to tell me?

Mom: We don't have interesting lives.

Asia: That's true... thanks for telling me. Should I call Ace?

First Kiss Part IV: Senior Year (part I)

Are you ready for this?


Senior Year part I:
This is where things get crazy.

I came back from the summer to discover that Alex and I were in an economics class together. I was a bit more confident than the previous year so it wasn't long before we were chatting and laughing and sitting by each other in class, etc.

Then it was homecoming time. At my high school, people were really into homecoming. Every day of the school week preceding the game/dance was themed. The themes-of-the-day included stuff like "Career Day", "Disney Day", and "Crayola Day" with Fridays always being "Spirit Day".

Here's a picture of "Crayola Day". I was a crayon box and these were my crayons. Presh, eh?


This particular year, my birthday was during homecoming week and it happened to fall on "Famous Group/Couple Day". I mentioned this to Alex once during our econ class and he proposed that we go together, as a famous couple. I (of course) agreed and tried to think of tame, non-romantic ideas so as to not put any pressure on the situation. I suggested we go as Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf. To this, Alex responded, "Well... that's not really a 'couple'." So instead we went as Robin Hood and Maid Marion.

It was one of the most wonderful days ever. Definitely the best day of my high school experience. (A:) It was my birthday, (B:) I was dressed up all couple-like with my high-school crush, (C:) Alex found out that he made varsity soccer that day, (D:) a couple of people put up banners in the courtyard wishing me a happy birthday and (E:) a couple of people brought me balloons, cookies and cupcakes. My hands were full and I could not stop smiling. It was for-reals awesome.

Alex and I continued to chat and flirt through our econ class. Then we started going on a few sporadic dates. He kept saying we were going to see Harry Potter 4 together, but would never commit to a time. When I told him I would just go see it without him, he got his act together and we went. That was where we held hands for the first time.

As the year (the year 2005, not the school year) came to a close, all my dreams were coming true. Right before Christmas break, Alex invited me over to his house because his neighborhood was lighting luminaries and he wanted me to meet his family. I told this to my high school friends and when they asked what we'd be doing, I said, "Um... luminary things." The ambiguity of that statement caused "luminary things" to become their favorite euphemism for sexual activity. But that is neither here nor there...

On December 23rd, the luminary things commenced. I came over and met his family. He and I went on a walk around his neighborhood with his arm around me. It was beautiful with all the lights in the street. When it was time for me to leave, he gave me my Christmas present. It was a necklace; his mom had helped him pick it out. He walked me to my car and said he'd call me the next day.

He didn't call.

First Kiss Part III: Junior Year

Today is Laura's birthday! She is excellent. She also has a super cool blog. Happy birthday to the girl who is so wonderful she even hung out with me when I wore those camo pants.

Side note: I texted Alex the other day to see if it was ok with him that I was posting all this random stuff about him... but I couldn't think of a way to ask this without sounding like a total creeper.

"How's life? So I have this blog..."
"Hey, can I publicly post a story on the internet about you and me in high school?"
"How am I? I'm doing well! Just trying to make people like me by telling them stories about you."

None of those seemed like acceptable options, so I just said "Hi, how are you?" and he said "Good how are you?" and I never responded. Hmmm....

I'm trying to be careful about how I represent the story, though. I feel like I'm being appropriately self-centered so I don't cause him any unease. So hopefully it's fine...?

Anyway... without further ado:


Junior Year:
The summer before Junior year, Laura and her parents moved to Australia. Rude.

So, junior year was an interesting one. I had no Laura and was therefore forced to be outgoing and social. Another interesting thing was my class schedule. I had AP US History every other day all year long. I think it was on B day. Ask Ally. Or ask Alex. He was in there too.

It was taught by a hip older dude named Dr. Milner. But no one called him that. His first name was James, so everyone called him Dr. J. Dr. J got annoyed with me a lot... but I think he still liked me. I just sometimes would share how my life was similar to that of our founding fathers. For example, we were talking about trains one day and I shared how one time I rode on a train to Washington D.C. (cool story, right?). Dr. J didn't think it was necessary for me to share all of my thoughts.

Alex and I became friends again. Unfortunately, by this point our high-school-niche-social-statuses were better defined and he was now a super cool JV soccer player. I was still the awkward Mormon girl (not much has changed...) and, I came to realize, I still liked him.

Junior year I turned 16.

This didn't seem to matter. Alex was out of my league.

There was, however, a moment I remember that stands out when I think back on my days in APUSH. Randomly one day someone said, "Asia, has anyone ever not liked you?" This was a nice thing to say, but I remembered someone in particular who, in the past, hadn't liked me much. I replied with something like, "Yea... I can think of someone..." then Alex chimed in with, "I know who it was. It was Kendra. She didn't like you because the whole time I was dating her, I couldn't stop talking about you." My knees started to feel a little like jell-o. I probably blushed and stared at the floor.

I continued to see him every other day for all of junior year. I continued to like him from 4 desks away. I considered asking him to hang out, but I knew it would have been a joke. We didn't have any friends in common. This was a big deal.

Summer came. I went to Australia to visit Laura and her family. It was great.

I came back to America.

I was ready for senior year. Kinda ready anyway...

First Kiss Part II: Sophomore Year

Dear dude who invented the drinking fountain,

Do you think everyone is 4 feet tall? Or do you think that only children and short people need hydration? Just wondering why all the short people get to have a lovely drink of water and the rest of us get to have back problems. Is this some kind of affirmative action for the vertically challenged?

Sincerely,

Asia

To those of you following the first kiss story, the second installment is below. I will warn you though... sophomore year was kinda uneventful. I tried to add in some funny stories to spice it up, but today's post is kinda juice-less. I will however say that starting tomorrow (or, if you will, starting junior year), things start to get interesting.


Sophomore Year:
I didn't have any classes with Alex sophomore year. I don't remember much about sophomore year except having the same exact schedule as Ally Palmieri.

Ally and I were in Spanish 2 with Mrs. White (who was black). Ally would annoy her by calling her Sra. Blanca. Whenever we did anything right, Sra. Blanca would give us a little coupon that said "2 points" on it. I have no memory of what we were supposed to do with these, but every time someone earned a coupon, the class would yell "Dos puntos!!" To this day, that is all the Spanish I remember from high school.


Here's a happy picture of me and Ally. We were seniors in this picture, so don't sue me for historical inaccuracy. I don't know if that's even possible, but if it is... please don't.



This was also the year that, one fateful morning in the band room (we went in there when it was cold outside), Laura poked the back of my knees while I was wearing a heavy backpack and I completely fell over.

I also fell asleep in English a lot and drooled through 16 pages of Great Expectations.

I saw Alex periodically from across the high school courtyard. I didn't think about him much. Our freshman year flirtation was over. I thought he was out of my life.

Then came junior year.

First Kiss part I: Freshman Year

So... it's getting colder. Please don't die of lack-of-bundling. Wear a scarf. Functional and fashionable. Win-win.

I've officially moved into the new BYUB Building on campus. There are windows! It's really exciting to be able to see the trees and know what the weather is. It's also handy to know whether or not a zombie apocalypse is occurring. In our old building, I was at an extreme disadvantage -- not knowing about a zombie attack until they were inside my dismal cave of a cubicle? What kind of secure feelings is that supposed to incur?

--

So one of my favorite stories of my life is the story of my first kiss. It's super precious. I'm a little conscious of who will be reading this, but whatev. It's a good story for all to enjoy. Like a for-reals chick flick.

I've decided to tell it in 6 short parts because the story is kinda long. Here's part one:

Freshman Year:
I was 13 when I started high school. I turned 14 during the year. During the last 9-weeks of my freshman year, I was in a PE class with my best friend Laura, some random people, and a cute boy named Alex. I liked Alex pretty much from the first time I saw him.

Now -- remember my 8th grade year? Well this is only one short year later. I was still uber awkward and poorly dressed, but I don't think I was aware of it. So it didn't really matter. I only knew I wanted New Balance shoes because Brittany Ferguson had New Balance shoes.

Somehow Laura and I started becoming friends with Alex. We started chatting and flirting during the boring lectures about fitness and calorie-intake. I used to pull on his leg hairs and giggle when he would grab my hand to make me stop. That was actually a pretty good tactic. Maybe I should give that a try now, see how it goes over. Alex started asking me when Mormons were allowed to date.

Much to his chagrin, I couldn't date until I was 16.

Much to my chagrin, this led Alex to get a girlfriend named Kendra.

Much to her chagrin, this didn't really stop Alex's and my flirtation.

But pretty soon the summer came and our relationship was put on hold. I went to girls camp and EFY and didn't think about Alex. He probably played soccer.


Then came Sophomore year.

1,000 views??

You guys... as of yesterday my blog has been viewed 1,000 times. That's so nuts! Thanks for finding me entertaining.

[I just felt a really strong desire to watch Homeward Bound. AHH DOES ANYONE HAVE IT??]



To celebrate the 1,000 views, I've decided to thank everyone for the great things they've done for me in life. Here are a few shout-outs:

1. Mom, thanks for being thebomb.com (I just looked up thebomb.com and it kinda scared me). But for reals, you're kinda wonderful and I feel so lucky to have you.

2. Guy who invented pop tarts, thank you for making the s'mores kind. They're delish.

3. Guy who invented the power strip/surge protector, I can't think of anything more useful to the universe than your superfly invention. Way to be.

4. Brothers, I super like you. Thanks for being the best ever. You bring the coolness of the male population WAY up.

5. Wikipedia, you know how I love you.

6. Creator of Are You Afraid of the Dark? (D.J. MacHale -- thanks wikipedia!).



Quality x infinity = Are You Afraid of the Dark?.


Thanks for everything, wonderful people of the world! My life would suck without you...

Public school, camo pants and the BUS

When I was 12, my family moved from Utah to Florida. (But don't think I'm from Utah -- because I lived in Florida until I was 6. Not that there's anything wrong with being from Utah, I just feel like being a Florida girl is a big part of my charm.) Up until the move back to Florida, I had attended fancy private schools where uniforms were worn and classes only had like 17 kids in them.

My first year in public school was 8th grade. It was the first year I could wear whatever I wanted to school. It was also the first year I had the opportunity to take the bus.

My mom was perfectly willing and able to drive me to my middle school each morning -- when she took my little brother to school, she actually drove past me as I waited at the bus stop -- but I wanted to have the bus experience. I had always seen it in movies and Disney channel shows so I was down to experience the nitty gritty.

My first day of middle school I was excited to choose my outfit. I chose vinyl camouflage pants that zipped off at the knee (to become vinyl camo shorts, naturally). I just googled these to see if there was a picture I could show you, but it turns out I was lucky enough to own one of the only pairs to have ever existed.

I walked to the end of my road to await my big yellow chariot (bus 637) and see what kind of characters I would meet. Maybe now is a good time to tell you that I only rode the bus for like a month. Here's what I remember:

There was a girl with red hair named Megan that was in the 7th grade (though older than me, I think). She had a 2-year-old daughter. She brought pictures of her baby and told us about her sexual exploits when we played Never-Have-I-Ever.

There was a blond girl named Cassie. I think after a few weeks she and Megan discovered that they were cousins or something.

There was a large handful of Jewish kids as well. They were intimidating, attractive and very tight with one another. Most of the kids at my bus stop were Jewish. This made Yom Kippur a cold, lonely morning at the end of my street.

Our bus driver's name was Ms. Rhodes (my brother affectionately called her Ms. Bus). She was cranky and gave us assigned seats because we were misbehaving. I tried buckling my seat belt once, but was verbally abused enough to never do it again.

I think I decided to stop riding the bus around the time that Megan invited me to her birthday party. She told me to bring a cross because her house was haunted by her grandmother. But her baby would be there and I would get to see her. I brought this up to my mother (cross and all...) and she frowned saying it was probably not a good idea for me to go.

Shortly after that, the kids on my bus figured out a way to make each other black out (by crossing your arms on your chest, holding your breath, and having someone push really hard on your arms...). It was on the news and stuff.

So I stopped riding the bus. I had my mom give me a ride to school for the rest of the year.

Middle school itself was a huge challenge. Coming from an experimental private school in Utah, I didn't know what "1st Period" meant. I didn't have one teacher leading me around -- I had to navigate my own class schedule. I had also never been exposed a locker and never had to work a combination lock. Big props to Jamie Talpalar for opening my locker for me daily and helping me understand what a locker was for... "omg! you mean I can leave my books here overnight??"

It was a party. I eventually got the hang of it and made some friends. I'd love to say I started dressing better, but I just don't know if I did. As a matter of fact, I just remembered that my camo pants had an elastic wasteband.

Classy.

My Husband, Wikipedia

Dear Wikipedia,

I think we should get married. Here's why. You are pretty much my favorite thing. Today I looked up Rabbit-Proof Fence, Katy Perry, and The Infinite Monkey Theorem (all I had to type in was "monkey typewriter" and you knew what I meant. True love). Because of random knowledge about things like this, I can impress boys and win free bowling passes (I won a pass yesterday because I knew who did the voice of Sally in Nightmare Before Christmas [Catherine O'Hara, duh.]).

But maybe I shouldn't want to impress boys if we're married. Dear Wikipedia, I'm sorry if I turn out to be a sucky wife because I use your knowledge to impress boys. BUT! I promise I will use my free bowling passes to go on dates with you.

Some people think you are not trustworthy and your user-run database can be biased or messy. But I know you better than that. I know that the Encyclopedia Britannica WISHES they knew as much about Jonathan Freeman as you do (the voice of Jafar in Aladdin). Or left-handedness (we have had 6 left-handed US presidents). Or the Taiwan Taoyuan International Airport. Nice try, Britannica.

I even had to look up how to spell "Britannica" on Wikipedia. Suck on that!

I won another bowling pass because I knew that Gnarls Barkley's music video for his song "Crazy" is made up entirely of a graphic based on the Rorschach Inkblot Test. (Thanks for helping me spell Rorschach, Wikipedia. You're such a pal!) This trivia knowledge didn't come from you, though, Wikipedia. It came from your close cousin, YouTube. And my mom's random love of this song. Thanks, Mom and YouTube. You can come hang out with me and Wikipedia after our wedding.

Wikipedia, life would be grand with you by my side. I just Wikipedia-ed (verb!) "Marriage" and found a picture of the two of us. It was meant to be.

XOXO,

Asia

The Car Music Game

I got some feedback yesterday that said I may be posting to my blog too often. I have been posting a lot lately, but it's because my creative juices are really flowing this week and I just don't want you to get bored reading it. Plus... if you don't want me posting too often, just don't read it? I dunno what to say.

Anyway...

I have some really great knowledge to impart today.

...

See below.



I really like driving groups of people in my car. Whenever my ward needs drivers for activities, I always volunteer. I just really like my car and I really like playing The Car Music Game. You play it like this: using music on your ipod nano, get everyone in the car (or as many as possible) to sing along/say "I love this song!" Sometimes it's really easy. Sometimes it's really hard. I've decided to make this game easier for you (especially if you're a beginner, but really I've become quite the expert at this). Here is what I've learned:

Songs that will get everyone singing/loving life 98% of the time:

1. 1,000 Miles by The Proclaimers
Every time. No exceptions. People dig this song. They will break into parts and sing the "da da da da!" part really loud and proud.

2. Tubthumping by Chumbawamba
Unless you have a car full of depressed people (are you driving them to therapy??), they will sing/shout along.

3. Never There by Cake
This is great because there's that one part where you think they're gonna yell "You're never there!" but they DON'T and you can see who is a true fan and who is not.

4. Paper Planes by MIA
Be careful with this one because it's kinda... offensive? It's just a little more extreme than some people are comfortable with. BUT! In the right audience, it's golden.

5. Toxic by Britney Spears
Whether or not you like Britney, you like Toxic. Everyone likes Toxic.

6. Tracks 2-9 of the Queen Greatest Hits album
Queen is a winner almost always. You have to play their well-known-but-not-overdone stuff.

7. Taio Cruz or Jason DeRulo
I'm not sure how long these will last, but if you were to play any songs by either of these guys today, you'd be fine.


These are songs you should never play:

1. Anything by the Beatles
It's not because they're not good. They're very good. But if you play the Beatles, people feel the need to share all the knowledge they have on the Beatles, the 60s, and their opinions on politics.

2. Anything from Phantom of the Opera
If you play anything from Phantom, the fun sing-along atmosphere of the car ride will be changed into a concert. That one girl/guy (you know the one...) will start singing in their very best operatic voice and everyone will feel uncomfortable.

3. Miley
You will be tempted to play Miley because she is so great. Everyone loves Party in the USA, right? Well, you have to save Miley for an all-girl car ride or you'll have to suffer polarization of your car passengers. They will break into pro/anti-Miley groups and conversation will be tense.

4. Blue by Eiffel 65
You think this one would be a hit! And it is! But only for like 15 seconds. Then people start to judge you for even having longer than 15 seconds of it on your ipod.


It's not a science, but I've been playing this game for years and this is what I've come across. The hardest people to play this game with are the roommates. They are tricky... All I've figured out so far is that they will sing along to California Gurls, Replay and some Celine Dion. They didn't even fall for my secret weapon (that is -- Backstreet Boys' Millennium album). It's exhausting.

The Scariest Blog Post EVER

As my favorite holiday approaches (they're ALL approaching, aren't they? So you don't even know which one I mean. I'm being all cryptic and stuff today. Because being cryptic is spooky. It has the word "crypt" in it. I love spookiness. Ok my favorite holiday is Halloween.), I've decided to tell you a story about my most frightening moment ever.

It was the summer between junior and senior year (I think? Maybe no? Anyway... it was summer and I was in high school). My family decided to go on a cruise to the Bahamas. It was a party.

We stood in the crazy long line to go through security and board the boat. Then, once on the boat, we had a freakin' long drill for what we would do in an emergency. They don't tell you about any of this stuff beforehand. Basically the whole first day is bureaucracy.

BUT! After that, the party began.

My most frightening moment was a couple days into the cruise -- once we were actually on an island. If you're picturing this in your head, fast-forward through all the boat partying (including when I discovered the 24-hour pizza delivery!!!) to the part when we're on Freeport, a Bahamian island.

Me and my super presh fam decided to go to the beach, then look at some souvenir shops. We all got in a cab and headed off to our destinations. From place to place, we took taxis driven by nice Bahamian dudes, one of whom was named Boaz.

As our day was coming to a close-ish, Ace (cool name, eh?), my oldest brother, discovered that he'd left his phone in one of the taxis. He was pretty sure it was Boaz's taxi. Then, for SOME reason, I decided to be brilliant and take it upon myself to find Ace's phone. I flagged down a taxi and told the driver what had happened. He said he could help so I got in the taxi. We drove and drove and eventually came to a huge parking lot FULL of empty taxis.

Did I mention that I was like 16? I started getting a little scared at this point.

The taxi driver parked and got out of the car, telling me to stay put. I sat there in the hot car, surrounded by lots of empty taxis. I was alone. 16. Abandoned. In the Bahamas. For a little while I tried to think of what my chances were of surviving if I got out of the taxi vs. if I stayed in the taxi. I kept thinking of movies like Brokedown Palace and I decided to get out. I wandered around for a little while until I saw my taxi driver talking to some other taxi drivers in Bahamian (just kidding; that doesn't exist. It was English). He then turned to me and led me across the parking lot to one of the parked taxis. He opened the door and there was Ace's phone! Hooray!

We then went back to his cab and he took me back to my family. We got on the boat and I wasn't kidnapped by a Bahamian. So my story is actually not that scary because everything was fine and he was really nice etc, etc, etc. BUT it was a really poor decision on my part to go off by myself on that quest.

You're welcome, Ace. Hope you're loving that phone.

Secret No More = Panic Attacks

OK. I decided to tell people about my blog. I no longer only have one reader. I have like 8 or something.

Now I'm really anxious that I've said lots of offensive or revealing things that no one wants to know about. What if all my readers are sports-loving, taco-eating robots that don't think I'm funny?

I know! I'll capture your attention by talking about Britney Spears. You see, I love Britney Spears.

I even saw her in concert when I was 11.

I just really like her.

A lot.

Oh no.

The pressure got to me and I can no longer think of anything to say at all....


I like hot dogs?

And Doritos.....

and.... ponies??

But that's a lie. Ponies are only 50% as excellent as full-sized horses.

Because they are only 50% as big, I guess.


Anyway... if I haven't scared you away yet, stay tuned. I'll try to post something awesome soon.

Piano Troubles

I can play 6 hymns on the piano. I can play them well and I often trick people into thinking I am a regular pianist. But as soon as they ask me to step outside of my happy 6-hymn-repertoire, I say no way, jose. But I don't mean to be rude when I say no way jose -- it's just that I can't, Jose. Can we still be amigos?


Back when I was 15ish, I volunteered to play the piano for opening exercises of Wednesday night mutual. I had learned to play "Called to Serve" from the Hymns Made Easy songbook and I had become pretty good at playing it by myself.

What I didn't realize was that playing the piano by yourself and playing it with people singing was 2 different experiences. Very very different.

Nonetheless, I sat myself down at the piano and began to play. As people began to sing along, I choked. My fingers just couldn't seem to find the right keys. I didn't give up though. My brain went into panic mode and I just began pushing any button that looked appealing. This ended up not sounding at all like "Called to Serve" from Hymns Made Easy, but more like a bad version of a John Cage arrangement.

The sing-alongers became confused and weren't sure if they should continue in their quest to sing "Called to Serve." But they plowed on anyway, shooting me sideways looks wondering if they should call for help.

So there we were, I was having epileptic panic spasms at the piano producing the occasional note and the singers were torn between their desire to sing a hymn in reverence to the divine and their fear that my piano-induced rage may be putting them in danger.

One girl, Ashley, started laughing at me. She laughed and laughed. Turns out she had asthma and her laughing fit turned into an asthma attack and she had to go home.

Now I'm very careful about when I play piano for hymn-singing. It can be very dangerous.

My Personal Calling in Life

When I was young, I was obsessed with unicorns. There really was no better thing that I could possibly imagine than a unicorn. I was also convinced that long ago unicorns roamed the land making everyone's lives better and curing cancer and sorrow.

Then, the wily Noah (of Genesis fame) decided to gather up the animals for the ark and missed a vital member of the animal kingdom. I held a little grudge against Noah for a really long time because of this oversight. Unicorns had to be God's favorite animal. Noah, you're the worst.

BUT! Unicorns, in their infinite awesomeness probably sneaked onto the ark anyway and just hid from everyone. After the flood was gone and everyone was looking at the pretty rainbow, the unicorns frolicked away, trying ever to stay under Noah's radar. They have remained in hiding ever since.

I then decided that it was My Personal Calling in Life to find the hiding unicorns in question. There had to be at least one out there, right?

For Christmas one year, my dad asked me what I wanted. This was a given. "I want a unicorn." Dad said he would get me one. I must not have been specific enough because I got a 6" plastic pony (that didn't even have a horn!). I forgave him though, because we were pals and there was no way finding a unicorn would be so easy that a dad could just go get me one for Christmas. I cut him a break.

Additionally, my family listened to a lot of Moody Blues when I was young. There is one song in particular that I loved listening to. It is called "I Know You're Out There Somewhere". The lyrics are these:

I know you're out there somewhere. Somewhere. Somewhere.
I know you're out there somewhere. Somewhere you can hear my voice.
I know I'll find you somehow. Somehow. Somehow.
I know I'll find you somehow. And somehow I'll return again to you.

This song was, of course, about my mission to locate the (most likely endangered) unicorn population of the world.

Just to report, I'm still looking for my equestrian friends. I'll let you know when I find them.