Like the Continent

Skinny Dipping

2012-01-12T09:11:00.000-07:00

What I'm about to tell you is a true story. It was, quite possibly, the funniest moment of my life. In fact, I was laughing so hard that I was having trouble removing my pants to jump into the murky waters of Utah Lake. But I'm getting ahead of myself. It all started at a Cinnamon Roll contest.

One rather temperate evening in the land of Provo, Utah, there was a Cinnamon Roll contest at my neighbor's apartment. I, along with a few of my friends, had been asked to be a judge in this contest. Being a fan of cinnamon rolls and random contests, I accepted. The contest was delicious and turned out to be more of a party than a formal competition. Kind of like a cocktail party, but subtract the alcohol and add a bit of butter. I sampled the various plates and made the careful decision that cinnamon roll #2 was the most delicious. #1 was a little dry and #3 tasted like straight-up butter. After casting my vote, I sat on a comfy couch and chatted with some friends that were also in attendance. Enter Bree.

Bree is that friend that everyone needs. The friend that stretches you and challenges you to do things you previously wouldn't have considered. Bree is the renegade. The guts. The glory.

Also at the party was Sarah. Sarah is very driven. Good student, hard worker, has a good serious face. But wait! There's more! She also knows how to party hard and is one of my favorite people to dance party with. Let's put it this way... I met Sarah when I was dating her brother. Once the relationship ended, the boy was long gone, but Sarah and I? We knew we were meant to be. Friends.

The girl who completed the foursome this fateful night was Hannah. Hannah was my roommate and altogether one of my favorite people. She was slightly more daring and slightly more brunette than me, but it was our similar "Sure. Whatev." attitudes that made us part of this crazy expedition.

So there we were. Judging cinnamon rolls. Talking about Ke$ha. When I said, "Hey let's do something crazy tonight." And Bree said, "Let's go skinny dipping." We all looked at each other with calculated glances. Then, with one communal shrug, got up and went back to my apartment to prepare.

It's important to note that, throughout the whole night, my expectations and what was actually happening were at odds. For example, this was my initial thought process:

Asia's Expectations: OK. Skinny dipping... So... I should bring a swim suit and a towel. But just for appearances. We probably won't even really find a spot to swim so what will happen is that we will drive around and have a good laugh.
What was actually happening: We were going skinny dipping.

My "swim suit" thought was abolished pretty quickly when I asked Bree, "Hey, should I bring a swim suit?" and received a, "No, Asia. We're going skinny dipping."

Before too long, we were loaded into my Jeep. Four girls, four towels, Miley Cyrus's "Can't Be Tamed" on full blast and a half-baked plan. After much debate and not very many good ideas, we decided that the only idea we had was to try Utah Lake, the notoriously filthy body of water just west of Provo.

We headed west on Center Street all the way until it ended at the gates of Utah Lake State Park. Wait. Gates? It was gated. And the gate only opened with a code. We pulled over to the side of the road in order to replan. We turned down Miley Cyrus only slightly in order to debate our next move. It just so happened that as we were pulled over, an RV pulled up to the gate. A dude got out, typed in the code, and lo, the gate opened. After one second of deliberation, we followed behind him as closely as possible to make it in before the gate closed. Mission accomplished.

We were in. And, man, was Utah Lake State Park happenin'. There were people everywhere. Night fishing, camping, family outing-ing, bonfire-ing, playing guitar. It was daunting. Especially if you're looking for a nice, secluded area to strip down and jump in the lake. After a bit of exploring and several nixed ideas, we came upon some private docks. These were docks with doors on them. I just tried googling this so you can see a picture, but I guess google has never heard of it... Basically, some people had mounted a door frame with a door in it on their dock. These doors were generally locked. I say generally because...

We wandered over to the private docks. They were kind-of secluded. There were people fishing to the left and partying to the right, but we judged that they were at a safe-enough distance and that it was dark-enough that, likely, we were ok. We tried the door on the first dock. Locked. We tried the door on the second. It opened.

Pause. Let's check on Asia's expectations.

Asia's Expectations: Oh my gosh. We actually found a spot. Ok, so... we'll probably just sit on the dock and talk. Or, if Bree is feeling especially dedicated to the cause, we'll go swimming in our underwear. What a laugh!
What was actually happening: We were going skinny dipping.

We walked out on the dock, closing the door behind us. We made a few remarks about how our secluded spot was only really semi-secluded and we could, potentially, get caught at any moment. It's important to note that my expectations, starting now, changed in rapid succession.

As if someone blew the "ready, go!" whistle, Bree started taking off her clothes. Sarah and Hannah took note of this and began to quickly follow. My mind was blown. Never, in my wildest dreams, did I think we would be taking our crazy plan this far. So I did what any super uncomfortable person would do. I began to laugh like crazy. As I cackled like a mad man, I began taking off my shirt, but was so unfocused about it that I really did look a little crazy, struggling to get out of my own clothes. Then I heard Bree say, "Asia! You're being so loud! People are going to hear you and come over here! And take off your pants already!" I snapped back to reality and finished disrobing. Then, we were all standing there in our undies.

We debated briefly (teehee) about whether or not to just swim in our underwear, but once the notorious filth of the water was factored in... As if another whistle had been blown, the underwear came off too.

Asia's Expectations: Ohmygosh ohmygosh ohmygosh. We're naked on someone's private dock. Like naked naked. And there are people all around. Oh my gosh. We're skinny dipping.
What's actually happening: Yep. Now you get it.

We found a spot on the dock that didn't have boats attached to it and looked over into the dark water below. SPLASH! Bree jumped in. The water looked plenty deep and she claimed that it was cold, but not freezing. We looked down at her with envy and surprise, then concern. The distance from the dock down into the water was further than anticipated. Bree quickly discovered that she wasn't going to be able to get out of the water without help from two of us standing on the dock.

And thus it was decided that we needed to skinny dip in shifts of two. First up would be Bree and Sarah. Then after we pulled them out, Hannah and I would jump in. This, of course, was poor planning because Bree and Sarah are very petite and Hannah and I each had about 4 inches on them. But thinking wasn't our strong suit as we were standing nude on a dock. Oh and also we were illegally in the park. Remember that?

Sarah jumped in and after about 30 seconds of being in the water, it was decided that their shift was over. It was just enough time for Sarah to agree with Bree about how cold and deep the water was. Hannah and I offered our hands and arms and we, quite un-attractively, helped the girls clamber out of the water.

Then it was our turn. Hannah and I jumped in. It felt nice to have my body concealed in the water. Pretty quickly, it was decided that our turn, too, was up and we needed to head back. One of the highlights of the evening was when Hannah said, "But aren't we supposed to swim around and enjoy ourselves or something?" And Bree responded with a caustic, "There's no time for that! Get out!" We laboriously climbed out of the water and got back on the dock.

We had done it. We had skinny dipped. And it was, quite possibly, the most awkward, ungraceful, artless, almost public skinny dipping in history, but it was unbelievably fun and unbelievably funny. It reminded me nothing of Nightswimming by REM.

As we put our clothes back on, someone decided that it would be funny to leave a pair of underwear on the dock. A calling card. Just to raise a few eyebrows. To leave our mark on this dock for whoever to find. After an inventory of who was most willing to give up their underwear, I took one for the team. And that's how my underwear ended up on some dude's dock.

A few weeks later, Sarah and I would be reminiscing about our eventful evening. "Hey, wanna do something this weekend?" I asked. Sarah smiled. "Yeah. And bring Bree. That girl is crazy."

Life Plan

2011-09-12T22:21:00.001-07:00

Life plan.

Life plan life plan life plan.

I have a college degree.

I have a job that is related to that degree. Ok. That is good news because not everyone can do that.

I pay for all my own stuff. Including a car payment and my phone bill and lots of other bills that I don't like to think about because it makes me feel too old and poor. This means I don't rely on mom for anything (wellllllllll OK sometimes I use her money to put gas in my car).

I want to get married at some point and have some babies that I can buy cute outfits.

Ultimately, I would like to teach high school film/media classes to juniors and seniors. Or English or something. No. Probably the film/media thing.

I don't think I want to be in Provo anymore because I feel like I'm stuck in a vortex of stasis. It's like my feet are stuck to a launching pad. Everything feels temporary. Plus male/female relationships are all kinds of jacked up.

I don't know where to go next or when to go there.

I don't have a lot of money saved up. Well I do, but I'm too scared to spend it on anything because I feel like it should be in a 401K or something.

I'm running away to Africa for 2 weeks.

Sometimes I play Roller Coaster Tycoon 3 to avoid grown up decisions.

I want to watch all of the movies Queen Latifah has been in.

Some days I feel like all options are good. Some days I feel like all options are bad. Well mostly just scary.

What I've decided is this: How my life changes doesn't matter as much as making the choices to cause change. I just need to move in any direction.

What if I move to Connecticut? That was my thought this evening.

My Life Is A Little Depressing

2011-08-11T22:16:00.001-07:00

So Blogger has this cool thing where you can just read all of the comments that have ever been posted to your blog in one neat little list. I was looking at this list for funsies and someone posted "Let's have a Footloose Party!" I immediately got really excited about whoever wanted to have this party with me. I was also really nervous that I had missed the opportunity they offered. I looked down where it says who posted the comment and was met with my own name. I had commented this as a response to someone saying they liked Kevin Bacon.

Footloose Party with myself. Epitome of sadness.

Adventures Outside

2011-08-11T21:39:00.004-07:00

Once upon a time, I lived in the land of Florida where camping is something crazy hermits do in swamps and hiking is well... Impossible. Also in the land of Florida, there is no river rafting. Well, not that I know of. And if there is, it's probably real boring. Florida is flat, hot and humid. And you can get eaten by an alligator. Or herd of alligators. A gaggle, perhaps.

Florida is also magical and wonderful, but for you Nature Valley poster children out there, you may be disappointed to discover the closest thing to an incline you're likely to find is a highway overpass. Climbing these, btw, is not recommended.

Anyway.

Then I moved to Utah. I was 17 and excited about college. I was also freaking amazed every time I walked out of my dorm and encountered the incredible sight that was "mountains". I was entertained enough just looking at them and basking in their glory. It had never occurred to me to climb one. And, being a Florida girl in Utah, I felt a bit out of place when I was ambushed by my fellow college students wearing what they called Chacos as they asked me if I wanted to climb a mountain or sleep outside. Or climb a mountain then sleep outside. I mostly just said no. A couple of times I said yes. I hiked the blasted Y. Camping just sounded like a social experiment to see how many different ways you can die just from being outside.

So traversing the outdoors was a challenge for me both physically and conceptually.

Fast forward to this last summer. I was now seasoned in all things outdoors-y. I had been hiking at least twice and camped once over the span of 5 years. This meant I was a regular granola. I'm even waiting to hear back from Nature Valley about whether or not I can be on their next poster.

Nature Valley: You've been hiking HOW many times??
Asia: TWICE.
Nature Valley: Amazing!
Asia: And I own a Nalgene water bottle, sucka.
Nature Valley: It's too much!

Anyway, they're checkin' to see if I'm overqualified.

One fateful day last April, I got an email from my friend Sean about doing a camping/river rafting trip in central-ish Utah sometime this summer. I though it sounded fun and certainly within my abilities. We bought our tickets and planned our trip. Then we got super busy and summer filled up with random jobs/trips/other things that made it seem like our camping trip would never happen. But a couple of weeks ago, the stars aligned and the trip was planned. The group was Sean, me and his two older sisters. They were all born and raised in Utah and had camped at least 35,000 more times than me. Though my one short bout with sleeping outdoors was enough to count as at least 6 camping trips, they still had me by 34,994 camping experiences. My Nature Valley confidence was waning quickly.

Before we met up, Sean had asked me a few questions that further challenged this confidence.

Sean: Are you ok just sleeping outside on a tarp or do you need a tent?

Hm? Did people do that? It seemed like a tent was sufficiently primordial. Sleeping on a tarp increased the likelihood of death and animal molestation by at least 73%. It was a tough call. But I was determined not to be the little nancy that needed a tent, so I said something like:

Asia: Whatev! I'm down!

Luckily it was all over texts and he couldn't see the trepidation in my eyes.

Sean: We're bringing some bikes in case we want to go for a ride. Are you interested?

This one was a bit trickier because I knew that mountain biking was something I most likely couldn't do. The last bike I had been on was barbie-themed. And even that was on a flat neighborhood road. And even THAT ended badly.

Asia: I don't know anything about mountain biking.
Sean: You just put your feet on the pedals...

He was making fun of me. It was a challenge. One I wanted to meet and metaphorically punch his face with. But I also didn't want to end up a bloody heap at the base of a mountain, so I replied with a sheepish:

Asia: Well, if you don't think it'll be too hard, I'll try it, but it's really no big deal for you to go without me.

He said if I felt like it, we could take turns on his bike. I let it drop. He didn't bring it up again. Touché.

We met up and began the 3 hour drive down to Moab. We left after dark due to work schedule maneuvering and almost immediately ran into a huge lightning storm. It was a lot of lightning. Like... sleeping outside seems like an issue if there's an 80% chance of death by electrocution.

But on we went!

When we arrived in Moab about 3 hours later, we found a dirt road, pulled over and prepared for the evening. Luckily Sean had thrown a $30 K-Mart tent into the car -- "just in case". We set it up, changed into jammies and jumped in just before an enormous rain/lightning/thunder storm. As I lay there in the dark, both feeling and hearing the tent get completely thrashed in the storm, both spooning and being spooned by girls I didn't know I was close enough to for such close proximity, I was caught by the incredulity of the situation. It made me smile. It also made me feel like I was really roughin' it.

RAFTING

The next morning, we headed out for our rafting adventure. It wasn't long before we found ourselves standing on the side of a beautiful river in Moab, Utah. We strapped on life jackets and were asked by a man with a very nice bod if we wanted to go down the river in a raft or an inflatable kayak.

Another toughie. Kayaks? I hardly had time to think; my party of native Utahns were dividing us into pairs and claiming our kayaks. I mostly cowared behind Aubry, the sister I was paired with as a kayaking companion. I started to feel very sorry for Aubry. Accepting me as a kayaking partner surely meant death or getting stranded somewhere dry and lonely. But then I decided to man-up. I could kayak! People kayaked all the time. Asia is a kayak-er!

Plus there would probably be a little tutorial, right? Or a little safety rope? Surely they weren't going to trust that I could control this thing, right?

Right?

As we were preparing to get in the river, hot bod Joe came around and asked us if we felt confident in our ability to paddle our kayaks to the side of the river after we had been on the river for a few minutes. I couldn't bring myself to say yes. However, Aubry answered for both of us.

And we were off.

It was beautiful and serene. The river was lined on both sides by tall, red mountains with scattered groups of sparse trees. The weather was perfect, too. Clear sky, but not too hot. A rarity for Utah in July. The beauty of the scenery could, perhaps be blamed for the blunder that occurred after being on the river a mere matter of minutes.

I realized all too late that hot bod Joe's challenge was just that... a challenge. I was in the back, which meant I was in charge of steering. This meant we spinning in a lof of circles and trying (but nearly failing) not to tip over. It also meant that, when the time came to steer toward our group on the banks of the river, we were in no position to join them. Facing backwards, we floated right past them, staring blankly. A pitiful, more helpless version of deer in headlights. As we floated by, our party waved their arms and yelled things. I lamely splashed my paddle in the water a few times. Sean and his sister just smiled. I could tell that hot bod Joe lost all his confidence in us.

We were able to eventually get to a tree and grab a poky branch. We waited there until we saw our group pass us. With our eyes unable to meet those of our counterparts, we clumsily paddled out to join them. My kayak tutorial came then. A shout from hot bod Joe -- "The person in the back is for steering."

Screw you, hot bod Joe. I'm from Florida.

From there it became a comedy of errors. We got caught in what seemed like an underwater forest, scooting our bums in order to escape our twiggy captors. Then we got caught on a random sand bar. For this one, we actually had to get out, push the kayak forward and get back in.

I thought a lack of tutorial would surely produce many inept kayak-ers. Someone to commiserate with. But no. It seemed as though the only people not well versed in the ways of the river-tamers were myself and my stalwart companion. Aubry was extremely patient with me throughout, thank goodness.

After a little while, we selflessly surrendered our kayaks to a couple that wanted to get out of the large raft. We said things like: "Just when we were starting to get it!" and sort-of believed them. Swapping spots with the now kayakers, we ended up at the very front of a raft filled with some random strangers and lots of children.

The highlight of this episode was feeling my body fling out of the raft into the rapids and thrash between the raft itself and the large waves that ravaged it. Aubry, in a noble attempt to keep me in the raft, fell out herself. Upon being pulled back in, a small child looked at me and said, "You fell out. I didn't."

True, sassy child. Very true. And that may be the perfect coda to my life as Davy Crockett's wannabe progeny. But, I must say, despite the somewhat sordid and hopelessly inept nature of my camping/rafting experience... I had a BLAST.

So suck it, Nature Valley.

This can't be the right thing to say...

2011-07-12T16:42:00.001-07:00

On a hot day in valley forge, my brain decided to take a little detour.

Let's rewind a bit... I'm in Pennsylvania for my work as production coordinator on a pretty nifty little reality tv show. I think you would like it. Anyway, part of this episode required a little jaunt to valley forge, where (hopefully) enlightenment would happen.

We arrived at 9am-ish and I immediately realized how little I know about valley forge. I want to say that I know my US history -- I definitely loved studying it and if I think about it too much I get all misty and patriotic --but I didn't realize that, aside from a visitors center and a few reconstructed huts, valley forge is just a huge, beautiful park. There is no admission and no walls around it. People were taking jogs and stuff.

We met up with a genteel, kind of older park ranger named George. George was super nice and really really looked like a park ranger. He even wore one of those park ranger hats. George showed us around the visitors center then came with us outside to shoot some cool scenes. It was super hot and humid and we were outside shooting for hours. We had water bottles in the car to help combat the environment and I was in charge of keeping people hydrated (among other things... I swear I have a real job). Enter brain issues:

Asia: George, would you like a...
Asia's brain: ...walker? That's not the right word... Walker? Water? Whopper? Walker? That's the one.
Asia: ...walker?
Asia's brain: well done.
Loooong pause
Asia's brain: wait a minute...

After another long, strange pause, my brain came to a realization:

Asia's brain: what happened? We thought this through! Wrong choice! How did this happen??

But George either misheard me or just opted to forgive the strange comment from the mentally challenged girl who's only visible duty was giving people walkers -- I mean water.

What a sweet guy, that George.

Really Good Movie Review: X-Men First Class

2011-06-17T00:01:00.000-07:00

Kevin Bacon was behind the Cuban Missile Crisis. Knew it.

Also Magneto is foxy. Also James McAvoy.

Also Michael from Roswell was in it for like 4 seconds. Also the Mormon doctor from House.

Thank you for joining us for this edition of Really Good Movie Reviews.

Popular Things to Hate

2011-06-09T09:28:00.003-07:00

There are some things that have become popular to hate, therefore I have decided that I like. I enjoy defending things that people enjoy attacking, whether or not I have an opinion about them initially... my super hero defense instict kicks in and I decide that I like them just because no one else does.

See... I believe in balance in all things. I feel like if 99% of the universe has decided to hate a thing, I need to like it, just to help tip the scales back to some kind of 50/50 situation. Because there's nothing I love more than disagreement. Not argument, per se, but when people disagree, I feel that the world can keep moving and changing and getting better. It's when everyone is unanimous on something that I start getting nervous and become the deviant that shakes things up.

This doesn't apply when I really do care about something that everyone likes. Or if I really don't like something that people find generally offensive. It's when I don't particularly care or when I'm sitting on the fence that I decide to deviate. Here are some examples.

Friday by Rebecca Black:
First of all... who cares? There isn't really a second of all...

Story time. Recently I was at a music club watching a sketch comedy group. They played songs between the sketches and one of the songs they decided to play was Friday. Some obnoxious girl yelled out "Kill me!!" That just seemed unnecessary. It got under my skin a little bit. If R.B.'s not hurting anyone with her inane song about her excitement for the weekend, why do we need to get nasty...? I guess "kill me" girl failed to notice that when Ms Black went into the "Partying Partying" part, everyone in the club yelled "Yeah!" At the appropriate time. It's fun. It's silly. Don't hate.

Twilight:
I will go to bat for Twilight every time. People love to hate things. Twilight is an easy target. You can whine to me about how the writing is whatever whatever and the love story portrayed is unrealistic whatever whatever and there are too many shirtless boys (I don't think anyone says that actually...), but I stand by my previous thoughts. If someone had worked hard to make a thing that people enjoy and it's not hurting anyone, don't hate. You don't have to love Twilight, but leave the people that do alone. And bring on the shirtless men.

Inception:
Here's an example of the opposite thing. Because there were armies of people who flipped out over this movie, I decided to not love it. Mostly I don't have any strong feelings about it and I want to tip those scales. But I do love Leo.

Stuff I like that everyone else liked includes, among others: How to Train Your Dragon, Harry Potter and grilled cheese sandwiches.

SIDE NOTE: I can only really think of one movie that I hated. It was The Green Hornet and I personally disliked it because I found it morally offensive and disrespectful to it's audience. If you lah-oved it, by all means enjoy. But I will not watch it with you.

I just started typing as sentence that started like this "So maybe this means..." but then I couldn't think of an ending because I don't have any idea what this means. I'm a social deviant when it comes to movies and books that I don't have strong feelings toward. I guess.

The Time I Had a Secret Enemy

2011-06-08T12:26:00.002-07:00

One time I was in college.

While in college, I was required to take a "Writing about the Arts and Humanities" class. (Did I capitalize enough things in the title of that class? Probably not.) It was a dumb class, but it was required and who am I to stand in the way of academic increase?

Anyway.

On the first day of class, I sat down in the small classroom, identified a few people that I knew ("Hey!" "Oh, hey dude!" "Look at us, in a class.") then was introduced to my teacher, Sister Miller. Sister Miller was fine. I had no thoughts about her. She was an English teacher. I think she had curly hair. The end.

But I guess it was in that moment that she pinned me to be her nemesis.

Throughout the class, our interactions were quite limited. She assigned papers, I wrote the papers and turned them in, she would grade them and give them back. It was very standard. My writing wasn't awesome, but it wasn't terrible. I was the same "pretty much OK" student that I'd always been. As far as I knew, I was the same as all the other students in the class.

No reason to have a personal hatred toward me, right? Well... there were a few times that I remember, now that I think about it...

One day we were talking about argument, I guess and she was having everyone go around and say a statement that followed this pattern: "Although _________, however __________." Something about that format seemed off to me. I raised my hand.

Sister Miller: Yes, Asia?
Asia: Isn't it redundant to say both "although" and "however"? It should just be one or the other... right?
Sister Miller: I have a personal and intense hatred for all that you stand for.

OK she didn't say that... I don't remember what she said. But doesn't it seem weird for a college English professor to be teaching basic grammatical errors to her class...?

Anyway. The end of the class was approaching and we were supposed to break into groups and write a huge research paper on something related to our field. I told my group we could just turn in a research paper I had written in a previous semester for my film history class, which we did. It got a good grade and Sister Miller was none the wiser.

But on the last day of Writing about the Arts and Humanities, something strange happened. She was passing papers back to all the groups ("Cook? Here you go." "Davis? Here you are." "Brewer? Nice work!"). She walked by my desk and slyly set something on it that was not my final essay. It was a folded piece of notebook paper. I looked around, seeing if anyone else had received such a note. Nope. I opened it and read it.

It was kind of a mock-apology for "wasting my time" in her class. She said that if I wanted to be in an honors class, I should have just taken one and she was sorry if I felt that her class was a bust.

What?

I didn't even think she knew my name. I was a completely anonymous student in the class. I definitely wasn't the most obnoxious and I definitely wasn't the student who cared least for the course. Yeah, it was dumb, but it was a GE... and I wasn't outwardly rude or sassy ever. She must have been receiving little cues from me all semester. Cues I wasn't intentionally sending, mind you. Little looks or questions that she built up in her mind as conniving and disrespectful.

When I got home, I opened an email to her. It looked like this:

Sister Miller,

I appreciate you taking the time to write me your sincere note, however I am confused about what made you feel the need to write it. I hope I haven't been terribly flippant about attendance or assignments. I know I haven't been the best student, but by no means do I regret taking the class. I admit that I took the class because it is a requirement for graduation, but I don't feel like it was a waste of time or effort. I'm very sorry to have made you feel this way. Thank you for your dedication to the course. Is there anything I can do for you?

Her response was weird:

Asia,

No, not a thing. I guess this is a question I should have been asking you earlier in the semester! But you came to class and will pass--so it's all good.

Have a lovely day.

Sister Miller

What the H?

Stalker Commercial!

2011-04-26T11:38:00.000-07:00

My friend, David Law, made this for a class. Enjoy!

Harps

2011-04-20T11:26:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: People who love harps may be offended by this post. People who own harps will very probably be offended by this post.

I think harps are stupid. Well... mostly just pretentious. But also kinda stupid.

Why do you need a harp? The answer is... you don't. Whenever I see someone playing the harp I feel like they're judging me for using Suave shampoo and owning Sketchers. I feel like their homes are made of gold and they only come into public to make people feel inferior by playing an instrument that costs as much as a Toyota Prius. They are the bourgeoisie and I am the ukulele proletariat.

Harps are pretty, certainly. But so are fountains, and at least you can throw stuff at those. Harp owners have very specific rules about activity regarding their harps. You're not allowed to touch harps, move too erratically around harps or breathe too forcefully in the direction of harps. I've never been more tempted to jump around and wave my arms in every direction than when I was around a harp.

Harps produce lovely music, certainly. But listening to harp music really just makes me feel like someone has strapped me into a chair and forced me to watch non-stop footage of clouds and waterfalls. Meanwhile, I imagine the harp yelling at me, "This music IS ethereal and you LOVE IT." Do I, harp? Do I? I know I'm supposed to, but really....? Let's get some accordion in here and call it a day. At least you can polka dance to accordion music. I've never polka'ed but I know I would prefer it to having beautiful images shoved into my eye sockets while getting brow-beaten by a stupid harp.

Fast forward about 20ish years. Imagine my 13-ish-year-old girl child comes up to me and says:

Girl Child: Mom, can I have a harp?
Asia: No, but you can have an SUV because they cost the same and one is considerably more useful and less dumb than the other.

My girl child will be so much better off. And so will the world.

The Time I Was a Knife Smuggler

2011-04-04T12:51:00.002-07:00

Once upon a time I had these 3 cool friends: Todd, Trevor, Jordan. They were all film students who had gone on their missions to Cambodia. We met in film classes and always had a jolly time. One day they decided that they wanted to go back to Cambodia to make a documentary as part of a school project. I invited myself to come along. They didn't believe that I was serious about going until I purchased a plane ticket. Then they understood that when Asia invites herself to things, she MEANS it.

Side note! I am SO lucky that the Liam Neeson movie Taken hadn't come out yet. My mom flipped when she saw that: "Why did I ever let you go to Cambodia!?!"

Anyway.

One sunny May (or June...?) day, we went to the Salt Lake airport and began the crazy travel to Cambodia. We were to fly to LA, then to Taiwan, then to Saigon/Ho Chi Menh City, then to Phnom Penh. We checked our bags, then began the process of going through security. While in the security line, Todd realized that he had forgotten to check his knife (a knife that he always carried in his pocket to use for random reasons at random times). Our bags were already checked. We were in the security line. This was just a big problem because he really liked that knife and it was a gift or something.

So, being a kind and gentle friend (who also had a small crush on Todd), I offered to carry the knife in my back pack. Why did I think this would work? What? Looking back I feel like the idiot girl who did the idiot thing and could have gone to jail or something. But I was 19, excited to go to Cambodia with my friends and felt like being a knife smuggler could be a fun adventure. I'm a sucker for adventure... So at the time, it really didn't seem like a big deal.

Anyway.

So we put the knife in my back pack and I put my back pack on the security belt so it could be scanned by the TSA people. I walk through the security-doorway-thing and made it to the other side. Surprise! My bag was flagged, pulled off of the conveyor belt and searched. They must have seen the rather large knife I was attempting to smuggle out of Utah.

Here's the disturbing part -- they searched and searched, but found no knife. They zipped up my bag and gave it back to me. I was off, scot-free. And I still had a knife in my back pack. I had smuggled a knife through security at the SLC airport... and it wasn't very hard.

Once we were at our gate, I told Todd about the security incident and we were both relieved that his knife was not confiscated, but at the same time, we were very worried about our safety because apparently it is pretty easy to sneak scary things through security. The likelihood that we were surrounded by guys with bazookas in their back pockets had increased.

Anyway.

Then we make it to LAX, the largest and scariest airport ever. We had to go through security again because now we were flying internationally and we had to leave some kind of terminal to go to another one la la la the point is I still had a knife in my back pack.

We waited in line patiently, people from every corner of the globe waiting with us. Finally, it was our turn to go through LA's security. I took my cell phone out of my pocket and put my back pack on the conveyor belt. I walked through and when I went to collect my back pack, the TSA people looked worried. They pointed at their screen (most likely it was at the HUGE KNIFE IN MY BACK PACK). But -- get this -- when they went to search my bag, they pulled the wrong back pack off of the belt. The person behind me also had a back pack, I guess, and he was the one who got searched. Seriously. I grabbed my bag and headed for my gate.

I had successfully smuggled a knife through two airport security portals. Disturbing? Yes.

Then we were on a plane for 67,4223412145 hours and finally made it to Taiwan. In Taiwan, we went through security for a third time. We were tired and gross-looking and Taiwan was weird and different and kinda dark and had too much flourescent lighting. But nonetheless, we lined to be to security-fied.

I stepped forward. I put my back pack on the conveyor belt. I walked through the metal detection thingy. On the other side, I was greeted by a tall Taiwanese man who looked down at me and said, bluntly, "You have a knife in your bag." I looked up, groggily and responded with a simple, "Yep." Then he said, "We're going to have to check your back pack and put it under the plane with the rest of your luggage."

Really?

That was it?

I could have done that in Salt Lake... All I had to do was check my bag.

So, I didn't go to jail in a foreign, poorly lit country; I didn't even get a slap on the wrist. And when we were headed back to American from Cambodia, Todd checked his frickin' knife.

And that, my friends, is how I became a knife smuggler. Moral of the story?? Ummm.... I don't want to say "airport security in America can be kinda sucky", but really....

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

2011-03-16T12:35:00.002-07:00

The weather is warming up and it's almost time for summer! This means it's time for swimming, camping, bonfires and other summertime adventures. Speaking of summertime adventures, last July I had a little adventure of my own. See below.

Once upon a time, I was working on a film set in Alpine. We were up on the mountain and it took several windy residential roads to get to our basecamp. Every so often, I would have to exit our mountain hideaway and go into civilization to make copies of stuff.

One of these times, something strange happened.

I was in my super presh little jeep headed to copy call sheets and I was stopped at a stop sign. An SUV was coming so I waited patiently for it to pass so I could pull out behind it. As this SUV passed, though, I thought I saw something strange. Time slowed as it drove by, left to right, and I was 95% there was a cat on the roof. A cat clinging on for dear life, mind you.

I pulled behind the SUV and my fears were confirmed. There was a fluffy white cat having a panic attack on top of the car. After the initial "huh... that's a cat" wore off, I was struck with the definite possibility that this cat belonged to some precious child and it would be flung from the SUV on the highway and baby tears would be the only result. I decided this was not a good plan.

I started honking my horn like a psycho. What else could I do? I rolled down my window and waved my hands. After a moment, the SUV began to slow. It pulled over onto the side of the road. I pulled up next to it.

A mom and her 3 children looked at me like I was insane.

"Do you know you have a cat on your car?"

I pointed weakly.

The mom let out an exasperated sigh. I had a feeling this was a repeat offence. Wily kitty.

"Oh goodness. Thank you."

Having delivered my intended message and not really sure what else I could do, I pulled out. But looking in my rear view mirror as I drove away, I could see the kids getting out of the car and trying to figure out the best way to remove the terrified animal. I smiled to myself. Good deed AND super strange situation. Awesome.

That was one of last year's adventures. I hope this year will hold more and I hope you have some good ones too :).

Rex Lee!

2011-03-14T22:36:00.001-07:00

So.... Hey!

I ran a 5K on Saturday. It was the Rex Lee Run 5K -- a run BYU hosts to help sponsor cancer research. I got a shirt and helped fight cancer! yay!

Now... I'm not a runner. This will come as no surprise to you. However, I don't want to think of myself as lazy and unsporty (nonsporty? insportatious?) because then I feel all sedentary and I worry that someone is going to use me as an example in one of those cynical documentaries about obesity in America. Hence I joined my track team. Hence I ran a 5K. Hence I try(ish) to limit my pizza consumption.

The race was Saturday so last Thursday I went to Gold's and did a test 5K. I jogged a lot and walked a lot and when all was said and done, my time was slow. But I had good feelings about Saturday. The 5K was do-able and with people around and a cool shirt on, I would probably be a bit faster.

I was gonna ROCK this 5K.

On Saturday morning, I woke up at 7am. The race began at 9am, but I wanted to get a good parking spot and ALSO be a bit early. Oh! Also I was tricky and put on all my running clothes the previous night. So all I did was wake up, brush my teeth, wash my face and go to the track.

I was like an hour and a half early.

Plus I had pre-registered so I already had my number and shirt. Needless to say... there wasn't really anyone else who was as enthusiastic about being retardedly early for the 5K. So I found myself wandering around looking like an idiot waiting for someone to entertain me. I pinned my number (in the running world this is called a "bib", which is weird and disconcerting) to my tummy then went and sat in my car, reading my book until it was an appropriate time to join the other runners.

But I had a rockin' parking spot, peeps. This was important because I figured running a 5K would be enough physical exertion and once I was done running I didn't want to have to walk an additional mile to my car.

At like 8:30, I left my car and joined the masses of people walking to the BYU outdoor track. We sat in the bleachers and listened to the sons of Rex Lee talk about their dad. Then we prayed and went to the starting line. There were a lot of people running the 5K. We all stood in a weird crowd, facing different ways, unsure of which way we were supposed to run when the shot was heard. I looked around at all the people I was up against. I was sizing them up, trying to decide if I would finish before or after them.

There were little old ladies, moms with strollers, super athletic people, super hot people, super hot athletic people, 8-year-olds, and people who looked kinda like me. People who were thinking "maybe I'll run a 5K today". But everyone, despite their athletic prowess, was startled and began to run when we heard the BANG!

I started jogging. I jogged and jogged. There were people lined up along the road, cheering us on and waiting for us to slap their hands as we passed. There were people taking photos. It was cool. I enjoyed being a part of the herd of people wearing a cool t-shirt and running for a cure.

Before too long I got tired and I started walking. I got passed by lots of people, but by this point I wasn't too worried about looking cool or athletic. I was doing the Rex Lee Run! And that was all I'd set out to do.

By the time I was pretty close to the end, I was tired and sweaty, but I felt good. I felt good about what I was doing for my body and what I was doing with the community.

However, it was around then that I was passed by a sweet old lady.

I then quickly forgot about my happy community feeling and decided that I needed to beat that old lady.

I pushed through my fatigue and ran. We were just a quarter of a mile away from the finish and I passed her. Then I ran through the finish, happy to be done running and happy that I was slightly faster than the lovely, genteel woman who came through the finish slightly after me.

Additionally I beat my test 5K time by 3 minutes. So basically I'm an athlete that gets faster by the minute. Look our for me, peeps.

Look. Out.

I then got in my very closely parked car and came home.

Now... I know 5K is nothing. People run this far and much farther everyday as part of a daily workout routine. Some people eat 5Ks for breakfast. But running much farther than a 5K makes me want to cry and barf. And cry-barfing doesn't sound very fun. So, marathon runners out there, I salute you!

Additionally, sweet old ladies, moms with strollers and 8-year-olds that run these things, I salute you. You are so impressive to wannabe athletes like me.

Run on, peeps. Run on.

Jimmer Love Song

2011-02-14T22:33:00.000-07:00

This is my Valentine's song for Jimmer :)

10,000 Views

2011-02-02T15:14:00.019-07:00

I am nigh unto having 10,000 views on my blog. Crazytown, right??

For your entertainment: Words people have entered into google in order to locate my blog:

- pot of gold at the end of the skanky rainbow
- burned my tongue
- literally in love with this grapefruit
- actiso bromch
- luminary things
- disney belle and the best

It's just interesting to me what sticks in people's brains sometimes. There are other search words that people have used to locate likethecontinent, but they are boring.... like "likethecontinent".

I know all of this info because blogger tells me all kinds of cool statistics. It tells me that 4 people in Slovenia and one person in Egypt have read my blog. It tells me that people like sophomore year of my First Kiss Story better than any of my other posts. This is weird because that's the part of the story where nothing happens.

Also... "belle and the best"? There are just a lot of things wrong with that.

Basically you guys are weird. Weird but wonderful. Kinda like a bite of baked potato pizza.

Thanks for reading. Thanks for being you and finding it entertaining when I'm me :).

This Post is Not About Hallmark

2011-01-28T12:24:00.001-07:00

I feel like, for the sake of being funny, I've been over exaggerating my feelings about sports and athletics. It's true that I'm not often passionate about playing or watching sports, but I do enjoy the community feeling that comes from watching a football game or being on a ward basketball team. I actually played on my church basketball team for about 5 years when I was a teenager and I loved it. I got to be pretty good too. I like when people around me are passionate about a team or a game and -- admittedly -- it's kinda contagious.

Also, recently I've been assigned to be the UPM on a TV show that is exclusively about college sports. I'm really excited to learn more about sports and have those long, obnoxious conversations about trading players and making it to the "sweet 16" (I know what that is!!).

Anyway... I guess that's just kind of a disclaimer.

So... I wrote this kinda long post about how I used to work at Hallmark and it was not fun and everyone hated me and I was fired because I skipped work to go to a track meet.

Then I realized that I could tell that whole story in one sentence (see above) and making it longer only made it boring.

Instead, I've decided to tell you a little bit about my experiences as a track and field superstahhh.

My senior year in high school was my little brother's freshman year. We were at the same school and it was fun to see him periodically. He ran cross country for a season, then started prepping for track and field. He told me that I should join the track team because it would make me tan and skinny and super hot for prom. Maybe he didn't say all those words, but that's what I heard mostly.

So I was like, "LOL sure!"

Before the season even started, little brother decided that he didn't want to do track, but I decided that getting fit was still probably a good idea. Even if Zac wasn't going to join me. I was ready. How hard could it be to be sporty? psh.

I showed up to my first track practice wearing Sketchers or something with black socks I had to fold over lots of times to make them look like they were ankle socks. They were not. My t-shirt looked ok (minus the fact that I didn't own a proper sports bra), but my shorts were probably khaki or courderoy or something tardy. I looked like a major dork.

Nonetheless, I jumped in to whatever they were doing and got to work.

After my very first track practice, I was completely exhausted. Beyond exhausted. My body was furious. After 16 years of complete inactivity I was putting it through outdoor track conditioning in Florida. Everything hurt. I was 98% sure I was going to die. Additionally, my muscles must have stolen some strength from my brain to keep them from dying so I was kinda loopy as well. Well... loopy? Understatement... Its the closest I've ever come to being stoned. I stumbled into my house mumbling incoherently. I couldn't walk properly, I couldn't speak properly and I'm pretty sure I was shivering.

Once inside, I wanted pudding like the earth was going to cease to exist if I didn't have it immediately. So I went to the fridge, got a pudding and a spoon and collapsed on the floor. I enjoyed my pudding from the floor as my little brother tried to have a conversation with me. He gave up and decided to make a video of me instead. This video has infamously become known as the "Hold my spoon" video.

Track was hard. We did a lot of running. A LOT of running. Running + Asia = sadface, but I figured I was building character and I eventually came to enjoy it as part of the adventure. We also jumped and squatted and lunged and climbed. I was by far the slowest member of the team. By far. Did I mention that this was my senior year? and I had never done anything athletic prior to this? The cool part was, though, that no one cared about how slow I was. They only cared if I gave up. We were all the same as long as we finished. It was kinda wonderful.

I also discovered it wasn't just because I was out of shape. At one point, the girls were doing stadiums and I was behind them all like a slow fat kid, and my coach pointed out that my breathing was not normal and I probably had exercise-induced asthma (AKA athletic asthma).

Shucks. Athletic asthma. How can I go on? I've been able to cope with this inhibition over the years by running less and using it as an excuse to stop playing basketball when I feel like I'm going to throw up.

One day at track practice, we took a little tour of all the different events. We saw shotput and long jump. We looked at pole vaulting and hurdles. Then we looked at the high jump. Everyone got a chance to try jumping over the pole. Some people made it over. Some people didn't.

I did.

I decided to cherish the moment and monopolize on my one sporty ability. I could jump over the dang pole. I had found my sporty calling in life.

Don't get your hopes up, though. I could clear the pole at track practice, but that didn't mean I could jump very high. In order to even compete in a meet for high jump, you had to be able to jump 4'4". It went up by 2" from there. It got to be VERY high. The highest I ever was able to jump during my time on the Mandarin High track team was 4'6". That meant I lasted 2 rounds generally.

Quite the athlete.

I'll have you know, though, that when prom came around, I did look tan and fit. And running track was one of the best learning experiences of my life. Mostly I learned that I could be on the track team and not die. Barely.

I know I know... my dress isn't properly modest for the Mormon girl I claim to be. You can see my shoulders. But this is about as rebellious as I got in high school so chalk it up to teenage experience.

Judging the Children

2011-01-27T12:39:00.001-07:00

I have a friend that teaches 5th grade in Spanish Fork. This morning, they had their 5th grade science fair. She was looking for help with judging their projects/presentations so her husband (my coworker) and I went down to the school to help out.

To judge the children.

We arrived at the school and went to the front office. A woman was there corraling the other judges and giving out clipboards and instructions. We were told that we shouldn't go easy on them just because they're cute 5th graders. On a scale of 1-20, she said, 10 was average and we should feel no remorse giving a child a 10. 20 was for stellar projects and anything under a 10 was below average.

We put on our serious, adult faces and headed into the gym where the children were awaiting their judgment. This would be easy. I would be fair. I can handle children.

I walked up to a little boy in front of a yellow presentation board that said something about a cornstarch monster. That sounded entertaining. I said, "Show me whatcha got." As soon as he opened his mouth I knew this wasn't going to be a walk in the park. I couldn't hear a word he was saying. The gym was loud to begin with, but 5th grade child #1 was ridiculously quiet. And on top of that, his head was turned looking at his presentation the whole time so any hope I had of lip reading was completely lost. I crouched down next to his chair so I would be at eye level, but 5th grade child #1 was determined to not be understood. I decided to just read his presentation board. It looked neat enough. Not so neat that his mom did it, but it looked like he had tried to make it look nice. It said something about a Newtonian Liquid... did 5th grade child #1 know what a Newtonian Liquid was? I sure didn't. And there was no asking him... so I gave him good points on everything except his interview skills and moved on.

A little girl with braces looked as though she was dying to tell me about what happens when you bake cookies without using all of the ingredients. It turns out, she concluded, mayhem ensues.

I learned a lot of stuff from these projects. Some stuff that I already knew (like... that water is good for plants) but a lot of the information was useful and applicable in my life. Did you know that Oxyclean, Resolve and Shout all have the same cleaning power? According to 5th grade child #4's research, there is no difference. Did you know that yellow food dye dissolves faster than blue, green or red food dyes? 5th grade child #11 does. Just don't ask her why that is. She doesn't know.

After I had finished judging my quota of children, I just walked around and asked them if they were having fun. Lots of little girls just nodded shyly. One boy threw his head back and said, "I'm borrrrrrrrrrred!" I was informed by 5th grade child #6 that they were missing math class to be at the science fair. That sounded like a pretty sweet deal to me. When I asked one little girl if she was having fun, she sweetly smiled and asked me, "Are you?" I was beside myself. Heck yes I was having fun!

As I continued to pace through the projects and smile at the kids, one boy called me over to his presentation and asked me, "Do you get scared easily?" I looked at him nervously. Oh crap... what is he going to to? I responded with a hesitant "No...?" He shrugged and went back to chatting with the boy next to him. I smiled and awkwardly backed away.

Before too long, the children were called out to recess. Coworker (David) and I went out to see his wife and play with the kids. A bunch of kids came up and asked if I was their teacher's sister. I lied and said yes. Hopefully that doesn't ruin their trust in adults.

It was fun talking to all these children and trying to figure out what they were going to be when they grow up. One kid straight up told me he wanted to be a mechanical engineer. Best of luck, 5th grade child #3. It made me think back on my time as a 5th grader. I remember being kinda mean and having few friends. Those were strange years and I had no idea what I was going to be doing 10 years later. I guess I turned out ok, though. Little Asia, with her posterboard explaining why Duracel is the best battery, grew up to be a pretty ok 22-year-old.

At least.... so far, so good.

...right?

Ears: Pwned

2011-01-10T10:49:00.000-07:00

When I was little, my mom really wanted me to pierce my ears. She thought it would just be so pretty and great. I didn't want to. We were the opposite of most mother-daughter dynamics. Some of my friends weren't allowed to get their ears pierced until they were 12. And they would itch for the day they could go into Claire's and pick out their first earrings.

Not me. Mom would beg every time we went to the mall. When I was nine, I eventually broke down and let her take me to Claire's.

Here's the thing about getting your ears pierced... people tell you it doesn't hurt that bad. They tell you, despite the obvious horror of the piercing gun, that it's a walk in the park.

They lie. It hurts like a mofo.

Real real bad. The trouble is, however, that once you've realized how much it hurts to get your first ear pierced, you have nothing to do but face the same thing again on the other side of your head. It's dreadful.

So the ears were pierced (imagine lots of crying). It ended up being a good decision because I really liked wearing pretty earrings.

However, as is the case with many young girls with their ears pierced, my ears got infected occasionally. I had to take the earrings out and tend to my wounds until they were ok to receive earrings again. One time I had my earrings out for too long, though and when I tried to put my earrings back in, only one would go through.

This didn't stop me from wearing pretty earrings, though... Like a young pirate, I wore one earring for about a year until my mom convinced me that it looked kinda dumb. Thanks for looking out, mom :).

So I let the other hole close up and didn't wear earrings anymore.

Flash forward.

When I was in middle school, my brother got me a beautiful pair of clip-on earrings. I wore these occasionally and really liked them.

Flash forward again.

It's time for my junior prom and I'm looking at the beautiful clip-ons from my brother. They had done good things for me. They were with me through grand times. But when I was 16, I looked at those suckers and they told me that I needed to try real earrings again. They inspired me to re-pierce my ears.

I was feeling impatient, though and wanted them pierced right then. So I decided to see if I could force earrings through my old holes. I went through my old earrings and picked some that looked appealing and gave it a try. Partial success! I was able to get an earring through the ear that I had kept open for a year longer than I should have. I had one earring in! How hard could the other one be?

Well this one was closed... completely. After a few painful tries, I quickly discovered that I would have to re-pierce the ear. I had seen The Parent Trap and decided that it couldn't be that hard. I found a safety pin and decided that it could probably do the trick. I think I wiped it off on a paper towel or something. This was my version of sterilization.

I took a deep breath and stuck it through my ear. I took another deep breath and pulled it out. I then grabbed an earring and tried to put it in the hole I had just created.

The hole could not be found... had it healed that quickly? Am I just an idiot? It was painful trying to find a hole that no longer existed so I decided to try piercing it again. With two more deep breaths, I stuck the safety pin back in my ear and pulled it out again.

Again. No luck in fitting an earring through. Had The Parent Trap lied to me?? Lindsay Lohan! Darn you!

The only way I was ever going to get an earring through my ear was to pierce my ear with an earring. This is how they do it at Claire's, after all. Except Claire's has special earrings that are really pointy and sharp so that they go through easily. I had no such thing (I had lost the ones they pierced my ears with, I guess).

So I began the painful process of forcing a dull earring through my (now pretty battered) earlobe. I kept icing it, which helped with the pain, but it was pretty awful.

But I was determined!

When I had made it about half way through my ear, my brother came to get me to go to a party we were invited to. So I continued with my ear-piercing in the car. It was during the commute that I actually got the earring fully through. It felt like I had climbed a mountain. I was so proud.

Do I recommend this? Heck no. But I feel pretty hard core that I did it. They're still pierced and I still get to wear pretty earrings all the time.

Ears: pwned.

The Time I Auditioned for American Idol

2011-01-05T13:35:00.002-07:00

The new season of American Idol is starting soon. Get excited!

I like American Idol because it feels like the American Bandstand of our generation. Everyone watches it. Even if you don't watch it, it's kind of difficult to not know what's going on in Idol world. It's everywhere.

When I was in high school, my family would watch American Idol all the time. We would even vote for the people we liked. But when I came out to college, I stopped watching it. I was too busy with my scholarly pursuits...

The trouble is this: when I would call my mom to chat about life, she always wanted to chat about American Idol. I never knew what was going on. So I started watching it again. After I was back in the loop of Idol-mania, my conversations with my mom were so much better :).

The other thing is this... I've auditioned for American Idol. I did it a few summers ago after facing peer pressure from two super precious, super Idol-addicted little girls who really wanted me to.

If they told you to audition for American Idol... you would do it too.

They told me I would totally win, so I decided to embrace my super diva stardom and show my talent to the world. After all, I'm ridiculously talented. I bring Mariah Carey to her knees with pure vocal aptitude. Just ask my young friends.

My little brother and I went to the veteran's memorial arena and got wristbands telling us our place in line. I had to sign a contract saying that I didn't work for Coca Cola and I'd never had a record deal. I also had to sign a contract saying that American Idol could make me look like a total shmuck on national television. No joke, the contract mentioned "public defamation" and other really specific, really awful sounding repercussions. The contract said that Fox could make up lies about me to make me more interesting and broadcast whatever they want about me and my personal life. This made me feel less bad for the people who look like morons on American Idol. They signed a paper saying that Fox could do just that.

Zac and I arrived on the day of the audition at 6am. We were in the longest line ever.

Seriously....

We sat outside for 4 hours (in the rain).

Then they let us in the building.

Then we sat there for about 8 more hours.

Zac, bless his dear, supportive heart, left me after about 6 hours.

While sitting and waiting, I read a book and listened to the thousands of people around me practicing their songs. The camera men got shots of the crowd yelling "I'm the next American Idol!" and we even got to see Ryan Seacrest for a little bit. I kinda love Ryan Seacrest.

Then it was time for the actual auditioning. I watched as people were ushered down to the floor in droves and told to sing for a small group of producers. These producers either said yes -- and you were off to meet to famous judges -- or no -- and you were going home.

Eventually I was ushered down to the floor, stood in a line of 5 people and told to sing my heart out for 2 random producers. I stepped forward, sang about 15 seconds of "New Soul" by Yael Naim (why? dunno. odd choice, but whatev) and was told that I wasn't what the network was looking for. Everyone in my little group was told that. Basically everyone at the audition was told that.

So it turns out that I'm NOT a super diva filled to the brim with sparkly talent.

But it also turns out that only about 200 people get through to see the famous judges. And only like 20 of those get to go to Hollywood. But like 15,000 people showed up in Jacksonville alone. That's .013% of people who even get to see Paula and Randy. Only the really good and the really bad people.

Which means! They can't let even close to all the talented people through. There's just not enough room. So basically my vocal self-esteem is still in tact. They wanted to let me through, of course! They just didn't have the numbers to do so.

The saddest part was when I had to call the super precious girls and tell them that I didn't make the cut. They cried.

Dang it.

So I opened Garage Band and recorded a Taylor Swift song for them to listen to. It seemed to tide them over.

Literally!

2011-01-04T11:50:00.000-07:00

So there are those people. The "literally" people.

"Literally" guy: I literally laughed my head off!
Other person: I'm worried for your well being.

THEN. There are those "You mean figuratively!" people.

"Literally" guy: You are literally blowing my mind!
"You mean figuratively" guy: You mean "figuratively". I'm figuratively blowing your mind.

The thing is... no one means "figuratively". When you say figuratively, it takes all the punch out. Literally is kind of a dumb thing to say, but figuratively just sounds pretentious and completely takes the impact our of your statement.

Person: I am literally in love with this grapefruit.
Other person: Why don't you marry it??
Person: Fine. I am figuratively in love with this grapefruit.
Other person: If your love is only figurative, your grapefruit is underappreciated.
Person: I can't win.
Grapefruit: Neither can I.

Sometimes the correctors are more obnoxious than the correct-ees. And by sometimes, I mean usually.

The other overcorrected thing is this: the pronunciation of the word "mountain". This will be hard to type about because it's an auditory problem, but I'll try my best.

Many people from Utah pronounce "mountain" like this: moun-ehn. With equal emphasis on each syllable and with hardly any effort from their mouth/tongue. It's a lazy pronunciation.

MORE obnoxious, though, are the people who say this. "People from Utah are SO dumb! They say moun-ehn when normal people say mounTain!" They express total belief that is is completely normal to pronounce the T in mountain as if they're from jolly old Britain. No one says "mounTain". You sound like an a-hole.

I stand by this: the most common way to pronounce "mountain" is the subtle "moun-n". With no obvious T, but with some effort put forth by your mouth; as if it's trying to do its job.

Or "moe-TAYNE". Both are acceptable to me.

The Burn

2011-01-03T09:42:00.004-07:00

Haaaaaappy New Year! I hope you had a safe and fun holiday season. I burned my tongue on some pizza 2 days ago (New Years Day!) and it's still recovering. Dang it.

Remember my precious first kiss story? Awwww warm fuzzies! Well, there's another epic boy story I have up my sleeve. Yaay!

Only this one is not precious. This was was a burn. A big, nasty burn. Less physically damaging than my pizza tongue, but certainly more emotionally hurt-y. Here 'tis.

The (non-pizza related) Burn:

Once upon a time I decided I wanted to major in film at BYU. In order to do that, you have to apply to the program. The application process is a B. It's really long and really hard.

I was working on my application while I was in a prerequisite class for the major. In my class, there was a boy. I will change the name of this particular boy, just for funsies. We'll call him Josh.

While working on becoming a film major, everyone said that it was a good idea to network, meet people, shmooze. While I was exercising my film major muscles, I decided to meet Josh and add him to my professional network.

Josh was super intimidating. He was applying to be a film major too, only his resume included lots of film work and he was practically Steven Spielberg.

I was all, "Moooooveeeees." and he was all, "Cinematography, low-key lighting, post-modernism!"

We decided to get together so he could help me with my application. We met in the library and talked about my resume for about 20 minutes. Then, for about 2 hours we just chatted. About our lives, about majoring in film, about everything. We laughed and laughed. At the end of the night, I went home thinking he was a pretty swell fella. I'd decided that film boys were alright.

The next time we had class, we were sitting together. We started walking home together after class. Then I started hanging out at his apartment after class. We started to become pretty good friends. We could talk for hours and hours. I had never before had a connection that strong with a boy. My perception changed from thinking film boys were great to thinking that Josh was great. Being with him felt so natural. So easy.

I started to fall hard.

There came a point in the class when we were split up into groups. Josh and I were put into the same group. As we would have group meetings and work on the project, we would talk and laugh and talk and laugh. I couldn't believe how effortless it was.

A couple of times I asked him to hang out in an environment that was not related to our project or our class. He was always busy.

But nonetheless, our friendship had blossomed. We were close. We could talk about anything.

In April, the class was coming to an end and with the end of the semester came the summertime. I was going home to Florida and he was going on his mission. It was a big, fatty ending. Josh decided that he wanted to take me to lunch to say a proper good-bye.

We went out to lunch and had a grand time. I gave him a going-away gift. At the end of our lunch date, he said he wanted a hug. I pulled him in for a brief side-hug and called it good. He said he wanted a real hug. I set down the items in my hands and we embraced. It didn't feel like a friend-hug.

Then -- I went home. He went home. I received an email from the film department -- accepted!!! I could hardly stand it. He was accepted too (duh). The universe was a happy place.

haha.

Then.

I was talking to our mutual friend on the phone one night. We'll call him Paul. Paul was also in our prereq class. He and Josh had been friends a long time. Paul liked to bug me about my feelings for Josh, but it was mostly friendly.

This particular night, though. Paul let something slip. Something I wasn't supposed to know.

In all of the time I had spent with Josh, in all of the hours we had spent chatting and laughing, walking home, working on our project, etc, he had not once mentioned his girlfriend.

His serious girlfriend.

The girl he had begun dating before he even met me.

Anyway.... Paul mentions this to me one night. I felt like a TOTAL retard. I wanted to dig a hole and climb in as far as I could go. The universe was not a happy place. Josh was happily dating a super great girl. A super great girl who was probably laughing at me the whole time I was in love with her boyfriend.

A few weeks later, I get a phone call from Josh. He's about to go on his mission and he won't have contact for a while (two years). He wants to say good-bye and wish me well.

I wish I could say that I held my head high and sassed him like he deserved -- some kind of well-rehearsed speech. Truth be told, though, I stuttered like a maniac. I could barely get the words out. Despite my sudden speech impediment, I did tell Josh that I heard about his girlfriend. I told Josh that he probably should have mentioned her to me. Josh stumbled through an apology. I told Josh to have a nice mission.

Time passed. He was off to serve the Lord. I was now a film major. I was enjoying it like nothing I'd ever enjoyed before. I was learning and growing and getting involved in everything. It was amazing.

Josh was an excellent missionary. We wrote letters periodically, just as friends. He would send me pictures of his various goings-on and I would tell him about the progress I was making as a film major. It was his turn to be impressed with my resume.

Two years later, he came home.

I was working on a movie. He was working on that same movie. We ran into each other on set. It was strange, but fine. Unfortunately, however, talking to him hadn't become more difficult. We could still chat and joke like the ironic friendship we had before his mission. I made a point of telling him that I had a boyfriend, though. haha, I made sure he knew that.

Production ended on the movie we were working on. It was back to work for me and back to classes for him -- he was just getting started, after all.

We talked online occasionally and I made sure to have a few more awkward conversations before I felt settled about the whole thing. I asked him if he was still dating that girl -- yes. I asked him if we could just forget all the messy crap that had happened and just be friends -- yes. I asked him the ever eloquent question of "are we ok?" -- yes. I hope he burned that stupid gift I gave him when he was about to go on his mission.

Anyway... he's married now. To the girl. The girl who waited. The girl he loves. I think I got a wedding announcement. I put it on the fridge. Then I threw it away -- along with all of his letters.

I was upset for a while about this, but I'm not anymore. I'm genuinely glad that he's happy. I've learned a lot from that experience and I'm glad that I had it. To Josh I may just be that dweeby girl that had a major crush; just a minor speedbump on the road to his happy eternal marriage.

To me, Josh is a reminder that I am worth more than that.

Home Alooooooone

2010-12-30T17:43:00.003-07:00

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

2010-12-28T11:14:00.004-07:00

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

2010-12-26T14:26:00.001-07:00

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

2010-12-24T21:06:00.003-07:00

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

2010-12-10T10:35:00.000-07:00

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

2010-12-09T16:03:00.003-07:00

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

2010-12-07T13:40:00.001-07:00

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

2010-12-02T12:26:00.004-07:00

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

2010-11-30T11:06:00.003-07:00

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.

2010-11-29T16:07:00.004-07:00

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

2010-11-27T21:06:00.002-07:00

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!

2010-11-19T12:49:00.000-07:00

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

2010-11-18T11:52:00.000-07:00

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

2010-11-17T10:01:00.000-07:00

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

2010-11-15T10:21:00.000-07:00

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)

2010-11-15T09:02:00.000-07:00

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

2010-11-13T16:14:00.000-07:00

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)

2010-11-12T08:51:00.001-07:00

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

2010-11-11T09:39:00.000-07:00

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

2010-11-10T08:59:00.000-07:00

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

2010-11-09T10:49:00.000-07:00

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??

2010-11-04T09:47:00.000-07:00

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

2010-11-03T08:17:00.001-07:00

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

2010-10-29T10:25:00.001-07:00

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

2010-10-27T10:32:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-26T08:06:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-25T15:09:00.001-07:00

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

2010-10-25T08:08:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-22T08:41:00.001-07:00

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.

"Mom on a Mission," stop selling crack

2010-10-21T10:48:00.001-07:00

8:00pm on Tuesday evening. Roommates and I are sitting on the couch watching TLC or "When Tigers Attack!" or something. We hear a knock at the door. My roommate goes and answers the door. A tall lady with dark curly hair and glasses holding a plastic bin full of cookies and pastries happily greets all of us. She announces herself as a "mom on a mission".

She is selling baked goods to help pay for a trip to visit her kids in Ohio. They live with her ex-husband. She says they trade custody every other year and this year she's without them. She says she has a bad back and has to wear special shoes so that she can accommodate her walking-heavy, door-to-door mission.

She says she's not begging, but being self sufficient because it's irresponsible to ask the bishop for help. She says she can take a card if we don't have cash and shows us what I only assume is a credit card reader (complete with card logos on it). I'm not sure how it comes up, but she mentions that she has a daughter living off-campus in a similar set-up as us.

My roommates go get their cash and buy croissants and the like.

She turns to me and says, "How about you? Would you like to help?"

I stare back and say, "No, thanks."

My roommates think I'm a heartless wench. The "mom on a mission" leaves -- onto the next apartment to peddle her (crack laced??) pastries.

OK. Before you judge me for being terrible, there's more. In my experience here at BYU, I've seen this lady 3, maybe 4 times. She always says the same exact thing. Always flashes her crazy shoes and tries to get a firm commitment out of everyone in her line of vision. She's always trying to go visit those kids in Ohio. I bought some weird bread the first time I saw her and I think I just gave her cash the second time. I did not eat the bread.

I explain this to my roommates and they are not sure what to think. They are also worried they will die of dysentery, having already begun to partake of the goodies.

The thing is -- I don't know if I buy her story. She's clearly coherent enough to be an awesome sales person. Why doesn't she work at a car dealership? Or a cell phone store? Or... anywhere? If she and Mr. Husband trade custody every other year, why did I see her last year? And the year before? Maybe she does work somewhere and only peddles pastries on the side.

Is she unable to get a job because she's crazy? Why does she think that 20-year-old kids in Provo have an expendable income to help her with her personal problems? News flash: We're all poor and we're all trying to get home to our families (I paid $700 for a plane ticket to go home for Thanksgiving). Perhaps she's just trying to make money without paying taxes on it to support herself. Who knows. It just weirds me out.

Have you seen her? Does anyone have any info on this lady? I googled every combo of words I could think of to turn up results on this lady and came up with nothing. Let me know!

P.S. Mom on a Mission, if you are in fact a Mom on a Mission and you really are just trying to visit your kids in Ohio, I apologize for thinking you're a drug dealer. You still weird me out, though. And I still don't want to give you my money.

P.P.S. It's maybe important to mention that my roommates didn't die of dysentery. They were actually fine.

Birthday!

2010-10-21T10:36:00.000-07:00

So... yesterday was my birthday! Hooray!

I really like my birthday. I feel like every good thing that happens on my birthday happens because it's my birthday. Additionally I feel like everyone I see is a guest at my day-long party. It's a great way to live life.

Last year I decided that I was going to be mature and have a small dinner party with some close friends. It was a lovely evening.

This year I regressed and went back to demanding parties. It was awesome.

My favorite part of birthday bash 2010 (other than the beautiful flowers my mom sent me at work <3) was at 11:58pm last night.

My roommates and I were sitting on the couch watching Friday the 13th: A New Beginning. My cell phone told me that I only had 2 minutes left of birthday merriment. I announced this to my roommates.

They decided to make these 2 minutes count.

All 3 of them started chanting/singing happy birthday wishes. This lasted the full 2 minutes until my birthday was done. Do you know how long 2 minutes is? Right now, I want you to sit still for 2 minutes.

It's really long! Anyway, these crazy birthday chants eventually came to an end at 12am, Oct 21. I was laughing so hard I couldn't breathe.

Thanks, ladies. And thanks to everyone else who made this year count!

Why I'm Scared of Mexican Food

2010-10-19T14:19:00.000-07:00

I'm going home for Thanksgiving this year! This is the first time I've been home for Thanksgiving since I was 16. I'm pretty much stoked. I really like my family. And they're probably even better in November because everyone knows that November rocks.

Once upon a time, though, I decided to go to college a gillion miles away from home. This made going home expensive and therefore not-very-often. My freshman year the plan was -- go home for Christmas, but stay in Utah for Thanksgiving and bum off your cousin's holiday.

I could handle this. It was a good plan. I really like my cousin and he's basically my only family that doens't live in the Southeast.

During the week leading up to Thanksgiving Thursday, lots of my friends were shipping off to enjoy Thanksgiving with their families that didn't live in Florida. Only a hand full of us remained in the deserted land that Provo had become.

My fellow rejects and I were... well... college freshmen. We'd recently become obsessed with a 24-hour Mexican restaurant that had breakfast burritos and loads of greasy, gooey foreign food. We went on Tuesday night and thoroughly enjoyed the quesadillas or whatever it was we ordered. We laughed, drove around, felt cool and finally went home.

6:00am the next morning:

I wake up with a really confused stomach. It's telling me something is not right. Not at all right. Luckily stomach and I made it to the bathroom on time for the greasy Mexican food to be expelled from my body. This wasn't fun.

Much to my dismay this happened again at 7:30am. And 10am. And 10:30am. I'd never thrown up so much in my life. I hobbled out to my car to take myself to the health center.

While hauling myself into the driver's seat, surprise! I was recognized by the parents of one of my classmates from 2nd grade. How on earth did they know it was me? Maybe sick, gross 17-year-old me closely resembles 7-year-old me. Anyway... this was no time to chat because I could vomit at any second. So I was kinda rude, but needed to get to a hospital asap. If you ever read this, Jensen's mom, I'm really sorry that I was in too big of a hurry to stop and chat. I hope you're well.

So I made it to the hospital where a nice lady asked me too many questions and I was like "all I want is to stop throwing up". And she said I had some kind of gastro-enteritis or something like that and said she'd give me a shot to help me stop throwing up.

She led me into an exam room and pulled out a shot. Then came the surprise -- the shot was going into my hip. What? I didn't even know that happened. I asked the lady if it was going to hurt and she said, "Yea. This is one of our nastier shots." She actually used the word "nastier".

So I'm basically scared for my life as she sticks the nasty shot into my hip. It did hurt. I managed to get back to my car and go home. Where I threw up three more times. Thanks for nothing hip shot.

So the next day was Thanksgiving. I woke up feeling fine and actually had a lovely time with my cousin and his family. I didn't eat too much for fear of vomit-ation, but was actually ok.

The nurse-lady said that my gastro-enteritis wasn't caused by the Mexican food -- it was just a virus going around. However, this has kept me away from Mexican food except on special occasions or when I feel like I'm being judged for not loving it.

Why I am incapable of adulthood

2010-10-18T14:43:00.000-07:00

Turns out I need car insurance. And I have to be a grown up and pay for it myself. I mentally and financially prepared myself for paying for car insurance. What I was not prepared for was mail (paper mail, mind you) coming to me full of scary grown-up jargon asking me if my identity had been stolen and here's your policy number and please verify and comprehensive $698.00 quarterly annulment scary scary words...

Bless his heart, my agent, Scott, was so patient with me as I took 5 years trying to find my routing number and figuring out what limits I want (this basically consisted of forwarding all his emails to Mom so she could tell me what I want). Now that I'm pretty sure I have car insurance, I'm kinda lost. The following is an email I sent to my car insurance agent.

Hi Scott,

I'm sorry for being practically incapable of being an adult, but I'm wondering what happens now... I guess I have a policy, right? And each month about $120 will be deducted from my account to pay for it?

I've received some mail from Allstate, but can't quite decipher what it is. One of the letters said that I need to verify my identity with someone? Anyway... What do I do now?

Thanks.

Asia

Basically saying:

Dear Scott,

I tried to read your scary mail but instead I put it on a stack of things that I don't know how to deal with. In order to make me feel like less of a failure, I'm emailing you in the hope that you will just tell me what I need to do.

Thanks,
Asia

Pet Peeves.

2010-10-15T12:59:00.000-07:00

So I recently discovered some pet peeves I have. I used to think I was a really low maintenance person that was chill as an Alaskan antelope. Turns out I'm not. Lots of things bug me. See below.

1. Whistling

Oh gosh, just stop it. What reasons do people have for needing to whistle? The answer is that there are no reasons.

Quick anecdote: I was on campus today delivering some digi beta tapes to Burbank and I heard some really loud whistling. It was really loud. Almost impressively loud, but I will never be impressed by whistling. I looked around to see who might be forcing everyone who is standing outside in Provo to listen to their little ditty. Surprise! It was my ex-boyfriend. I immediately felt gratitude for the turn of events in my life that led me to not marry this loud whistler.

2. People my same age calling me sweetie or telling me they are proud of me.

Don't tell me you're proud of me if you're my peer. Saying you're proud of someone is like saying "You have made the correct choice, oh ye of lesser experience than I." This is a fine thing to say to your child or grandchild or... yea, that's about it.

If someone who is your same age does something awesome, an appropriate response is, "Way to do that awesome thing!" or "Oh man, show me how to do that awesome thing you did." or "That thing you did should cause you great excitement."

Those are appropriate responses.

Also -- calling me sweetie. Please be 50 or over before you do that (that means you, 23-year-old girl at the Verizon store).

3. Talking when you need to clear your throat.

If someone is speaking to me while they have something phlegm-y in their throat, it makes me want to barf. They could be talking to me about their dying wife's final words of encouragement and I would still want to barf. I probably wouldn't even be able to focus on what they were saying enough to hear that they're talking about their wife's final words, so really you can't call me insensitive.

Clear. Your. Throat.

4. When people think they are the first person to do something when they really are not.

Attention everyone: everyone can do the Gollum voice from Lord of the Rings. Really. Everyone. You are not the first. You are not the only. Turns out all you have to do is close your throat and make your voice sound gross. Stop doing it, or at least stop thinking you were the first one to do it.

Attention again: upon first hearing the word "euthanasia", everyone thought it was "Youth in Asia". Everyone thought this because, without seeing it written down, it sounds mighty similar to (or, if you'd rather, exactly like) "Youth in Asia". This is not an embarrassing thing nor is it a funny thing. Everyone does it.

One more thing everyone does: staying up really late sometimes. I've often witnessed the conversation where people try to one-up one another with their staying-up-late stories. It is not interesting unless you are a vampire and have, in fact, never slept. You would always win the one-up conversations. Way to be.

5. I feel like I need a 5th thing to be nit-picky about... but can't think of one.

I like things to end in nice round numbers. That can count as a pet peeve-y thing, right?

Why I Suck at Dating

2010-10-13T15:16:00.000-07:00

I suck at dating. I'm so bad at it, in fact, that I rarely get the chance to do it. This is not a new thing. This is, in fact, old news. I have been on some of the worst dates in the history of the activity and I still remain one of the worst boyfriend-getters ever.

I've given this some thought and here's what I've decided. I suck at dating for the following reasons:

1. I can't flirt.

Really though, I can't. Not consciously anyway. The giggly, arm-touchy technique never developed in my adolescent years and trying to get these skills during my post-adolescence is not going well.

I see it happening and I feel like a safari scientist (is that real?) as I observe and try to figure out how it goes down. No deal, peeps. Around cute boys, I remain either silently stoic, friendly in a sisterly way (you don't know how much I get of that), or uber awkward.

2. Impatience.

I'm really really impatient when it comes to boys. I don't know where this impatience comes from, but I kinda feel like I need to trick boys into going on dates with me so I can trap them forever in a loving relationship.

For example -- I'll see a cute boy. I'll say hi to cute boy. I'll immediately feel anxiety that we don't live in a beautiful lake house together with our 6 children. I mean -- come on.

The boy is probably thinking: Oh, cute-ish girl! Hello, cute-ish girl! Perhaps I want to hang out with cute-ish girl. Oh wait, she's a wiz-natchy psycho beast.

For this reason, I don't often progress to the "date" phase.

3. I say awkward things.

I say lots of awkward things. When I get nervous around a cute boy, I feel the need to cover my bashfulness with clever humor. This never goes well.

For example:

[This conversation is embarrassingly real. I don't miss you, 2007.]

Cute boy: Oh, hey! I'm going through the temple for the first time next month!
Asia: Oh, that means you have to wear funny underwear!

[This has already gone very wrong. I've said an inappropriate and kind of offensive thing about him, his underwear, and a religion we both belong to. You don't think I can make it worse. You are wrong.]

Cute boy: heh... yea I guess....
Asia: Well... wear your favorite ones until then!

It just was not a good thing to say to really anyone, much less someone you want to ask you on a date. Needless to say, the date never happened. Cute boy is now married and he and his wife both wear funny underwear... suckers.

4. Sometimes I dress like I'm homeless.

This one is kinda self-explanatory. I'm just lazy sometimes and I love this pair of shorts that my mom has repeatedly tried to hide from me/throw away.

5. I subconsciously flirt with really awkward boys

A large handful of the small list of dates I've been on in my life have been with awkward boys. How does this happen? I used to feel like I was a magnet for the low-self-esteem boys of the world, but have since realize that I bring this on to myself. I flirt with awkward boys.

My flirting just has no on/off switch. How I wish it did. However, because of this, I've been on some very interesting/entertaining dates that I would never have been on otherwise. Maybe I'll share these in a later post.

Until then -- attention boys who are a little bit too touchy-feely, a little bit too young for me, or a little bit too awesome for me (admittedly, most of you are): Yes, I will go out with you.

6. Hilary Duff movies have ruined my idea of love.

Remember in A Cinderella Story how Hilary Duff was all nerdy and emotionally abused by Jennifer Coolidge and had no friends but was still a mega babe? Well, despite all this, she gets Chad Michael Murray to fall in love with her.

Ok, what?

Hilary, you've done me a disservice. I'm easily as awkward and dorky as you were in that movie, and I see no sign of a foxy quarterback eyeing me for some action. If, in fact, if there are foxy quarterbacks looking for socially challenged cute-ish girls to court, they have all been kidnapped and we should send out a search party immediately.

Sports.

2010-10-08T10:40:00.000-07:00

Asia + sports = ?

1. I don't play any sports and I don't watch any sports.

2. I have decided I am a sports appreciator. I don't mind that others like sports (except when it makes traffic horrible) and I don't mind playing the friendly game of HORSE.

3. I once had a huge crush on a soccer player.

4. For a brief period of time I was a high jumper for my high school track team.

5. I like the way boys look in baseball uniforms.

6. I know who the following people are: Pele, Babe Ruth, Michael Jordan, Serena Williams, Tiger Woods, John Madden.

7. Sitting on a dewy field in the morning to watch a game of flag football makes me feel kinda patriotic.

8. Sitting on a couch watching any kind of sports on the TV is boring to me.

9. Sitting on a couch watching OLD sports seems like a huge waste of time to me.

10. I have been to a "footy" game in Australia.

That is all I've got when it comes to sporty things.

So sporty people, play on!

I Read the Letter

2010-05-10T18:46:00.000-07:00

I've known this letter existed since I was seven. I know that there are four copies of it: one for me and each of my brothers. I may have read it when I was seven -- I don't remember. A few months after it happened, I suppose the letters were put aside and they eventually went into storage. I mostly forgot about them. Everyone did until a few months ago when my younger brother asked to see his copy of the letter. My mother went digging through our storage unit and eventually found them. They were printed on legal paper and rolled up into little cylinders. Mine was to be mailed to me.

I guess you could call it a suicide note, though it doesn't seem fitting. Is there another word for this sort of thing?

It came to me in a little manilla envelope with other random items from my mom including credit card applications she thought I might be interested in. I set the other items aside, sat on the couch and unrolled the paper. It had been typed and it was addressed to me, though I knew that my brothers' notes all said the same thing.

Then I read it. I read the strange letter from my deceased father.

There was no mention of me. There was no mention of him. Or anyone else for that matter. It was full of his views on the world. As if all he wanted a piece of his brain immortalized for his children to experience after his death. Perhaps he wanted us to get a glimpse of what kind of man he was, since we barely knew him. I guess that makes sense. He was known for his mind. He was a mentally disturbed genius. One of the great pioneers in the world of computer networking. Someone wrote a wikipedia article on him.

What struck me most about the letter, what seemed to smack my face as I read the words was the date at the bottom.

November 1995.

1995?

My dad took his life in August of 1996. He'd been planning it at least since November of 1995? I hate you, 1995 and I hate that I know when this letter was written.

I guess I was upset that he didn't say "I love you" anywhere in it. But, I suppose the fact that this letter exists means that he did... and does. And I do feel like I've crawled into Stryker's head and received a semblance of what it must have been like to know him like others did. Everyone called him Stryker.

Anatomy of a Breakup

2010-01-05T21:01:00.000-07:00

A few years ago I went to a series of small plays produced by the New Play Project. One of them was called Anatomy of a Breakup. I, Asia (like the continent), have officially been broken up with. Having been through this experience, I now understand so many more songs, poems and movies about people going through breakups. The secret is it's not very fun, but the Supremes already knew that.

However, I feel older and wiser now that I'm on the other side (or ALMOST on the other side). I feel like one day, when my daughters are having relationship problems, I can say that I went through the same thing and I didn't take any crap. I can tell them I'm glad I had a broken heart because it's important to have one. I can tell them that I cried at embarrassing decibels until I realized that life could go on without him in it. Though their schedules feel suddenly empty and their hands suddenly colder, the world doesn't stop spinning and there are a lot of people that love and support them. I can tell them that even though it doesn't feel like it right now, you will feel better tomorrow and the next day after that. Sleep well little girls across the world, your broken heart will mend. It will.

Why I Blog

2009-06-04T14:10:00.001-07:00

So I've decided to blog. I've also decided not to tell anyone about it. We'll see if anyone stumbles on it by accident.
For a really long time I didn't understand the concept of a blog - why would anyone want a public diary? I've since realized that blogs have so many more uses than that. Having said that, I think this blog will most likely just be full of my thoughts that you may or may not find interesting. I'm fully aware that blogging can be extremely self-indulgent, much like Why I Went to the Woods by Thoreau or pretty much anything Woody Allen and the things I say will likely have no use to you, but I am operating on the small hope that someone out there, every now and then, will care about what I have to say. I think that's the power of the blog. I'll try to figure out something cool to post like a mystery story or my opinions on movies or something, but for now this is all I've got :-). Thanks for reading.

Like the Continent

2009-06-03T19:36:00.001-07:00

“Like the country?” Yes, dear friends, this is the response I hear most often when I tell people my name. This is discouraging because not only is Asia not a country, it is the biggest not-a-country landmass in the world. It almost makes me agree with Miss South Carolina that Americans need more maps. I tell these “Asia is a country” believers that it is, in fact, a continent. They then laugh at their mistake and I wait patiently for us to move onto another subject.
Some other, more informed people say “Like the continent?”, though this question isn’t as fun, nor is my response to them.
I once got a “Like the band?” and that was exciting because yes, there is a fantastically awful 80’s band called Asia and yes, my name is spelled and pronounced the same way. I bought their CD once so I wouldn’t be found ignorant of all things Asia, but found them to be similar to, but not as good as Kansas. Kansas, by the way, is a state.
I’ve had Asian people think I was messing with them and American people say “But seriously, what’s your name?” People ask if I’ve ever been to Asia, if I was born in Asia, or super awkwardly – if I was conceived in Asia. I will have you know that the one time I did go to Asia, no one commented on my name. At least not that I understood.
Some people just say “That’s pretty,” which I appreciate, and some people don’t comment at all, bless their hearts.
I’ve had many encounters with people regarding my name: misspellings, mispronunciations (a substitute physics teacher once called me Isaiah) and a great variety of jokes. Or rather 200 versions of the same joke. It restores my faith in humanity that calling me Africa hasn’t lost its charm and that Asia Minor is still referenced by today’s youth. I’m used to these jokes and have learned to let them roll off my back like water on a duck. I really like the duck analogy and using it reminds me of a time my brother acted it out to demonstrate the value of the principle. Speaking of which, my brothers have way cooler names than I do, but for the sake of narcissism I won’t mention them at this time.