Too Pretty For This

In This Issue: Strangers Insult Me With Childhood References

2011-11-11T13:04:00.005-05:00

After a long day at work yesterday, I stopped by the grocery store on my way home. Threw things into my basket without really thinking, and headed to the checkout line.

"How are you tonight?" the cashier asked.

"Hungry," I responded. My stomach grumbled in agreement.

"Hungry hippo," the cashier nodded.

"What?!"

"Nom nom nom!"

"Thank you for the comparison."

"No problem, loved that game!" Cheerfully clueless, he handed me my bag of groceries and I grumped off into the night.

I don't think I look anything like that when I eat.

Eight Inches Make A Difference

2011-10-23T19:06:00.006-04:00

Guess who has brand new mom hair?

Sorry for the facial expression. There's an unwritten rule about how many self photos you can take in a Starbucks before people stop pretending they don't notice. I was perilously close to the limit and couldn't take another.

That's right, this lady right here. And while I'm really annoyed with the salon that didn't book enough time for my appointment (I told them I was donating my waist length curly hair and might need extra seat time) and the stylist who didn't listen to what I asked for or look at the photos I provided, it isn't entirely bad.

Why?

Because according to the National Cancer Institute, 774,370 women will be diagnosed with cancer by the end of this year. It's a terrifying journey to find oneself on -- and in addition to the stress of diagnosis, treatment, and debilitating medical expenses, many of these women wake up every morning to a new face in the mirror, one they don't recognize.

I'm good at a handful of things, but science and doctor-y things haven't ever made the list. I am good at growing thick strong hair (thanks, Greek ancestors!). So yesterday I went in and had eight inches of my locks chopped off, walked out with a bag of hair (creepy), and tomorrow will mail it to Pantene Beautiful Lengths. Along with donations from about five other women, it will be made into a wig for one woman fighting the hardest battle of her life.

So while my hair looks like a small town newscaster's, I know someone else is going to end up with some great hair days. That makes it okay.

Curious about hair donation? Read my guest post from 2009, Frizz for a Cause, over on MakeupAndBeautyBlog.com.

Hello, I'm Not Stalking You

2011-09-17T12:58:00.004-04:00

Some things, I can't wrap my brain around. Like sending emails such as the one below.

From: --
To: Christina
Subject: Stalking

Hey, Christina, how are you? I'm not stalking you. Yet!

Lovely.

Here's to you, future stalker! You and your uncomfortable emails!

Console me in the comments, please. I don't want to think I'm the only one who gets head scratchers like this one.

Helpful Phrases For Small Talk Scenarios

2011-08-28T20:16:00.002-04:00

Chit chat. Small talk. It serves a purpose, but there's a reason it makes us yawn and roll our eyes when we think about it. All you're doing is saying the same thing each time, and wasting the precious brain cells you still have by uttering inane comments.

Here is my gift to you: a series of responses that you can memorize and use, allowing your brain to focus on quantum physics or the last episode of Dance Moms. Also, if you get the delivery right, you won't have to worry about making small talk much longer.

Please note: while these are conversations I often have, your experience may vary -- so please feel free to adapt them.

"How are you doing today?"
"[fill in long explanation with unnecessary details and tears]"

"What are your plans for this afternoon?"
See above.

"Your hair is amazing!"
"That's what I said to the last owner."

"You're kind of conceited."
"Yes."

"What great weather we're having!"
"It's a trap -- they want you lulled into a false sense of security before they unleash the zombies."

"Would you like the ravioli packaged to go?"
"No, I plan to grill it immediately -- I hear it tastes best that way."

"So what do you do for a living?"
"I've found eating food and sleeping regularly to be highly successful for me."

"Is that debit or credit?"
"Klout, actually."

"Hi, my name is [name]. It's so great to meet you!"
"It's great to meet you, too. Good thing I won't remember your name, so we can do this again."

Okay, so my idea of "small talk" extends to nearly "all talk." But I find the above responses infinitely helpful in sparing my brain the pain of ordinary responses. Tell me in the comments -- what do you (or have you) said in a common chit chat scenario?

Rejection: For Fun And Profit

2011-08-14T15:15:00.004-04:00

When I was on a work trip a few weeks back, my co-workers and I were chatting over dinner, and somehow got to to talking about the Rejection Line. Never heard of it? One of them hadn't either, so I called it and put it on speakerphone for group entertainment.

(Call it right now if you never have -- 212-479-7990).

Someone suggested that Seattle needed a local Rejection Line, since the New York area code kind of made the whole thing fishy for us west coasters. Last weekend, I discovered there IS a Seattle rejection number.

It's mine.

"Hey :-)" came the text message from an unknown number.

"I'm sorry, but I don't recognize your number. Who is this?" While my gut reaction was to respond with a little more attitude, I have my cell listed on my business cards and toned it down a bit.

"It's Don. We met on the bus this evening. The guy with the Bud Light sign."

I don't use public transportation. This was clearly a mistake. I let him know, he apologized, and I thought how strange it was that this had happened the previous weekend, too.

Minute later, a new number texted me:

"Hey :-) It's Daren. Nice to meet you today. That was fun on the bus. You work tomorrow?"

All of these people mentioned the bus... and it clicked. Some crazy itchy bee was giving out my number as her own to men on public transportation.

"Someone has been giving out my number as her own, but I'm afraid it isn't me. I don't ride the bus. I'm sorry."

"Oh wow. So sorry. I had no idea. That is really messed up," came the response. Then: "Well, I guess it's never too late to make a new friend! How was your weekend?"

Great.

"Thank you but no. I don't really want to talk. I'm sorry someone was rude to you but you can throw away this number now."

He apologized and left me alone... for two days.

"Hey, I know you weren't really in the mood to talk before. But I couldn't help but to ask how you are doing? How is your week going?"

So. Anyone want to sponsor this impromptu career I'm starting? I will happily mention your company in my rejections.

"I'm sorry, but I'd rather be eating ____while watching _____, my favorite ____, than text or talk to you. But for comfort during this terrible time of rejection, may I suggest trying _____?"

Get in touch, sponsors. I'm open to your offers.

I Heard There Will Be A Conga Line At My Funeral

2011-07-30T12:36:00.002-04:00

My friends are looters and zombie killers. But apparently? Also sentimental. Please consider the recent conversation below Exhibit A.

Me: Okay I need your opinion: free skydiving lesson was offered to me -- not off a plane, into a tube. Take it?

A: Do it!

Me: What if I told you the instructor was in training? Still do it?

A: It's in a tube... What could go wrong?

Me: I don't know, I haven't had a freak accident before. I'm not sure how they go down.

A: Do it!

Me: If I die, not only do you HAVE to come to my funeral, but also give a euology (and pronounce it like Zoolander) about how beautiful and kind hearted I am. You may not mention that I gave you instructions on what to say.

A: Okay.

Me: You want me dead. I knew it.

A: I do. I want your iPhone.

Me: When I jump to my death under your orders, please help yourself.

A: Okay... what else do you have that I want?

Me: My hair?

A: Maybe.

Me: Hey! Don't be mean! You love my hair and would want to save it for the baby.

A: I'll make a blanket for him with it.

Me: That is the perfect legacy.

A: We will have a conga line at your funeral!

Me: I want to come! Maybe we can have a fake funeral where I show up. Surprise! Not dead! I feel like maybe people would be mad instead of joyful. Because I have terrible friends.

A: We would be confused. And think you were a zombie. And kill you. You would be bald.

Thanks. I love you, too.

Diary of An Angry Black Woman (Who Isn't Black)

2011-07-12T20:35:00.006-04:00

Airport security -- no one's favorite, but never been an issue for me.

Take off your jacket? Okay! Remove your jewelry and belt? Sure thing. Kick off the shoes? Of course -- did that back at check-in. Pull out everything you packed and dump each item into separate bins? You got it -- I was hoping to lose something today anyway.

But last week, I got a pat down.

OF MY HAIR.

This hair.

After walking through the security conveyer belt, throwing my hands in the air (like I just didn't care) for the body scanning machine, and walking forward, I was informed that my hair was suspiciously full and lustrous and they had to pat it down.

They *might* have left out the compliments, but I was fairly confident that was why... they're a jealous bunch, those TSA people.

I'm not going to lie, it was a disappointing experience. There was no awkward massage of my shoulders or anything. When my co-worker got patted down, he got the full body treatment (women discriminated against again!).

But today, my friend sent me an article from the TIME website: "Woman Calls TSA Hair Pat Down 'Racially Motivated.'"

Oh.my.goodness. The same airport? The same pat down?

It's obvious: the TSA thinks I'm black.

It's not the first time this mistake has been made.

I thought the pat down was funny when it was just hair jealousy. Now that I know it's because I'm Jewish-and-confused-for-another-minority? Now I'm enraged.

I'm going to have to talk to some media about being singled out for my ~~poofy~~ full, lustrous hair.

The Five Stages of Sickness, or, I Am Now Dying

2011-05-10T21:10:00.003-04:00

This may be my last blog post, because I'm probably dying. I have a really sore throat, people. So I'm tracking my Five Stages of Grieving (read up on Wikipedia, a non-credible source, if you don't know what those are). I think these stages -- and their order -- pretty much describe every illness I've ever had.

Enjoy my pain.

DENIAL
This usually occurs Day 1. I wake up with a sore throat, and cheerfully scold myself, "Oh, you! You drank too much coffee yesterday and then slept with your mouth open!" Self grumbles, but knows this to be true. Illness is not an option.

Denial becomes a little more difficult as the day goes on, and gallons of water don't seem to hydrate throat enough to make it stop hurting. "No, no, NO, I am NOT sick!" is the refrain because my body is like a lizard -- if something goes wrong, I'll just regrow a tail or a pancreas or whatever I need to not have a sore throat.

ACCEPTANCE
Upon waking on Day 2 with a sore throat, acceptance comes. It sounds like this:

"I'm siiiiiiiiiiiiiickkkkkk!"

Paranoia is a common side affect of acceptance -- I accept that I'm sick, but I also accept that someone, somewhere gave me germs and it was probably on purpose. This time, I doubt it was bin Laden because he's dead, but I haven't ruled out some other terrorists. Or my co-workers. They're interrogated appropriately about their recent symptoms.

"When you got sick, was your throat sore? How long? Tell me, dammit! Or," I continue ominously, "this unicorn and its pet puppy will pay."

ANGER
Day 3 falls on a weekend, almost invariably. This brings on ANGER. I think that's pretty self-explanatory.

BARGAINING
This can fall on Day 3, too, since I quarantine myself and then I get bored. I might as well bargain as watch Dirty Dancing again.

Example bargains:
- If I'm going to die, at least I'm a martyr -- I'm protecting innnocent lives from the death I'm about to experience, because if it can take on my hearty immune system it's clearly the kernel of a pandemic. You're welcome, world, for staying home and eating popcorn.

- If I'm going to die, people had better say nice things about me at my funeral. My best friend gets an email asking about the eulogy she should have planned. She responds that it will be awesome but refuses to provide details for my editing. My mother gets a text about my impending death and a request that she not tell "humorous" stories at my funeral. She agrees to talk about my nobility of character, my beautiful visage, and my humility. She seems eager to talk about my humility.

- If I'm going to die, I need to at least survive until I'm done eating the chocolate truffles in my apartment, because they are $1.19 for three now. They used to be $0.89, for goodness sake! I'm eating them before I die, even if they scratch up my throat that is already killing me.

I'm not good at bargaining.

DEPRESSION
You might be surprised, but Kubler-Ross didn't say the stages she outlined followed her chronology. Sure, acceptance would be awesome here, but really -- depression is all that's left. Depressed that I'm never going to get well. Depressed that the consulting nurse told me over the phone that if I don't have strep throat I probably have acid dripping down the back of my throat (like a mutant or a dragon... both of those are bad). Depressed that the doctor ran tests and confirmed I *don't* have strep (but asked me if I planned to spit on him. I have never spit on him before... in fact, I've never met him. I just look like someone who spits on strangers).

On the off chance I survive, it's scheduled for Thursday. But by then I'll have run out of stages of sickness and/or grieving. Do you experience any stages I didn't mention?

Getting All Bent Into Shape

2011-04-03T16:59:00.004-04:00

There have been all sorts of sicknesses in my office the last few weeks. I'm pretty sure I've been exposed to the cold virus, whatever new strain exists of swine flu, and the black plague. I mentioned this when I went to the chiropractor yesterday, and he told me it was a smart move on my part to come visit him. Getting your spine aligned helps your immune system, he assured me.

Well, smart me was pretty happy that less-smart-me had scheduled the appointment a month earlier.

Here's what he didn't tell me: your emotions live in your spine. And when you get your vertebrae crackling and lined up, you're releasing all sorts of feelings into your nerves and blood and whatnot -- and who knows how much build up is in there.

If you're a robot it's no big deal. In fact, if you're a robot you probably don't even need a chiropractor and you're totally getting gypped. But if you're a female, you are in TROUBLE.

It's like when you have plaque built up in your veins and it releases and clogs an artery and you have a heart attack and die. Kind of. And I think you get plaque in your veins but that might only be your teeth, but you get the idea -- this is all very sciencey so trust me on it.

So after getting my back adjusted yesterday, I felt awesome... for half an hour. My hips were aligned -- better for swaying, I say -- my back was straight-ish, and my shoulders weren't hunched into some painful-looking posture.

Then: everyone was terrible and mean to me. Even the people who were nice were only that way because they were afraid of being honest about their repulsion of me and that made me want to kick them. When my father offered to give me a cordless drill I assumed it was to write messages in people's car doors who were clearly against me (the offer of the drill was rescinded). The weather was gross on purpose to make me sad and the stores didn't have clothes or shoes I wanted out of spite. SPITE.

Even chocolate was against me, I could tell.

And then I realized: I didn't feel this way before my back was cracked earlier in the day. My agile mind put 2 and 2 together and realized what had happened.

Chiropractors need to come with surgeon general warnings.

Beware the Flight Attendants

2011-02-03T15:22:00.002-05:00

So a few weeks back everyone was Google Trending and Facebook posting about the newly required TSA body scans.

Personally, I think that constitutes a year-round motivation to work out and watch one's diet... because here in Seattle, there IS no bikini season to keep me thin.

Here's what you should really worry about, though, and no one but me is telling you to be afraid:

FLIGHT ATTENDANTS.

"Why?" you may ask. "Why would I worry about those friendly soda-dispensing butlers in the sky?"

Because some of them are too friendly. Let me give you an example.

Last week I had to go out of town for work, and on Monday was flying back. Due to lovely snow you midwesterners provided, I nearly missed my first flight. Checked in, provided pin-up pictures for the TSA scanners, and then raced across the airport to launch myself into the plane before they took off without me.

The older flight attendant greeted me, and asked me how I was doing.

"Oh, a little harried," I wheezed, clutching the stitch in my side.

"Ooooh, yes," he said, running his fingers through my hair. "Yes, you have that whole Taylor Swift thing going, don't you?"

"Uh, yeah. I guess." I eased away and settled in my seat.

My friend came by a moment later.

"You've been upgraded!" he announced.

"What?" The plane didn't *have* a first class section.

"You need to come sit up in the first row," he explained. Thinking that something had gone wrong with my rushed check-in and he was trying to spare me embarrassment, I dutifully took myself and my purse to the front row and sat down.

The flight attendant plopped down in the seat next to me. "Well," he leered. "Now we can talk!"

Oh. Great.

"What do you do for a living?" he asked.

"I work in the motorcycle industry," I responded vaguely.

That was the wrong answer, because his grin got creepier. "Oh, I bet! I can totally see you, all dolled up in boots and chaps and a leather jacket!"

Can you? I'd prefer you didn't.

I clarified that's not actually what I wear or do. Then I clarified I was tired by yawning whenever he opened his mouth. Then I clarified I didn't WANT him to get a flight to Seattle, thanks.

I'm telling you: flight attendants are the ones you need to watch out for. They know you won't punch them because you want to make your connecting flight and won't risk airport jail (is there a real name for that?).

So fortify yourself with booze at the bar, bring a book, and wear your best repellent scents... because those villains are out there, ready to offer you a Coca-Cola and some bagged peanuts.

What Do You Say to the Most Polite Spammer Ever?

2011-01-17T20:32:00.005-05:00

So after my last email to Danijel (read here, here, and here to figure out who this is), I assumed the hint was given and I was off the hook.

Oh no.

Perhaps this guy (woman? I don't have the faintest idea) has caught on and thinks it's hilarious and is trying to play me.

Maybe this is an ingenius and elaborate publicity hoax for someone actually selling spandex disco pants -- making this a searched for-term -- or making AdWords money off of this somewhere (yes, seriously, this person might not have anything to do with spandex, a weird fetish site, or American Apparel... it might just be someone gaming Google).

But honestly? I think this must be the most polite spammer ever. Take a look at the email I received after sending my "photographs."

"Photographs" like this one.

Hy Christina!

its good to haer again from you! grat, they are intressting pics,hehe..

your ideas are good ,but at first i must see what youve done about the real pics in your photoshooting?? i dont know if you wear black disco pants, and how look your poses???

it would be very fiendly if you can send me these on my mail, and than we can look further, to arrange you all you need, ok? so, dear Christina hope you can send me the pics as soon as possible.. Thank you!!

For next Week i have also a lot to do! Bussines as usuall ;))

That sounds like something I would've heard from a kindly philosophy professor: "Well, I see where you were going with that, and that's a good start, but let's try..."

I had no time to Photoshop my head onto a one-legged stick figure or some other variation, so I didn't respond right away.

So a few days later, this arrived:

Hy Chrsitina!

How are you?

I just also want to ask you if you get my last E-Mail and what do you decide to do about your nice pictures? wanna send them to me??

its important to know for me because i really need a prewiev to plan further..

would be great if you can answer me :)

cheers Danijel!

He's getting impatient now... because it seems I'm wasting his time. Hmm.

I am now taking suggestions. What would you like to see me say to Danijel, the ultra-polite spammer?

Disco Pants: Is there a Craigslist or Svenslist in Switzerland?

2011-01-08T13:54:00.005-05:00

Sarcasm is not a universal language. But if pictures are worth a thousand words, I just sent a few thousands' worth to Danijel, my cheerful and persistent spammer. If you don't know what I'm talking about, read part 1 and part 2 of the Disco Pants Saga to catch up.
==

So after the last email, here is the response I received.

Dear Christina!

Thanks for your quick answer :)) im glad to hear that!

so , thats the plan: at first ill need prewiev photos from you in the BLACK and TIGHT disco pants, in all possible stances. of course in normal mind :)) but now you will be the Boss, and therefore i pleased you, be creative about the poses. do also just a little crazy stances, because this pants show some young and wild imige. im sure you can do that and your good!!

2nd part is, when its all ok, that we arrange your place to stay here and do further important shootings for american apparel. would be that ok for you???

is it right, that you will do the shooting tomorrow?

i whish you a good and great job- good luck!

cheers Danijel

You want something crazy and wild? Something that says, "young"? Okay, Danijel, I can do that. But obviously not till after Thursday, when my Errands for Shut-ins volunteer came to take me to American Apparel -- so today, I sent this email.

Hi, Danijel,

Sorry it took me awhile to get these pictures, but I think you're really going to like them. I chose some of the best shots, but if you need more just let me know. I got really wild in a few of them, just like you suggested -- but I think the bruises can be Photoshopped out.

Although I'm new to professional modeling, I'm excited to work with your team in Switzerland and learn from everyone's experience, while adding some of my own ideas to the mix. I think we should really focus on showing diverse types of beauty -- I mean, who would've thought that lil ole one-legged me would one day stand for fashion and gorgeousness, but here I am!

This is definitely going to appeal to all the other women out there missing eyebrows, legs, arms, etc. Why would they shop with any other brand?

So, when should I ship my stuff to you guys? I want all my clothes and pictures and stuff to be there when I arrive, so I need to get it boxed up and sent. Also, when is our first photoshoot?

And do you have an apartment set up for me yet or should I start looking? Do you have Craigslist there? Because I could start looking for something myself if I need to. Or is it something like Svenslist?

Okay, Danijel, can't wait to meet you!

Christina

And the pictures of me that were attached...

I can't wait to be the first eyebrow-less, one-legged American Apparel model... this has to be kind of historic, right? Also historic that I'll be the first non-child model under 5'8" -- this is clearly a good year for "real" beauty.

Who thinks I'll get another response?

Spandex Disco Pants Continues

2011-01-03T16:22:00.004-05:00

Sarcasm doesn't translate well, it seems.

Hy there! Thanks for answering!

ok dear Christina,

At first i would say, that you try to make some sample photoshoots in the disco pants and send me these back.

if is than all or right, we look further.. because we do this whit all us participants.

im very sorry about your leg, that must be very hard for you!

i just always cant imagine, how would you look in these situation in these pants? can i also ask you how old are you? its also nice to meet you too!

ok dear Christina, i would be happy if you let me know, when aproximately do you think to start whit do this.

i whish you also all good in this new year and take care...

regards Danijel

That's fine. "ok dear Christina" has a new hobby for 2011, it seems.

Hi, Danijel,

It's so good to hear from you again! I can't wait to take those pictures and send them to you so we can get that formality out of the way! Won't be too much longer -- Thursdays are when the volunteer from Errands for Shut-Ins comes by to take me to the grocery store and to shop for whatever I need, and that's when I'll pick up a pair of disco pants. I had my drivers license taken away after my accident because, being one-footed, I could only step on the gas pedal. I put a sign on my car to warn people that I wasn't going to slow down or yield or stop unless *absolutely* necessary, but someone decided that people can't read or whatever and the signs were a bad idea.

Anyway.

I'm certain I'll look good in the disco pants. I've always had nice legs, and now that I only use one for everything, it's very toned. And without a second leg to distract from that one, everyone will see how good the disco pants look on it! I have a very good feeling about this ad campaign, but who's surprised by that? You and I make a great business team -- seriously going to take the world by storm, Danijel.

One thing to keep in mind is that age is just a number, so don't worry about mine. Besides, with Photoshop, you can totally remove minor wrinkles or fat rolls.

Let me know when I'll need to be in Switzerland. I've started dropping hints to my boyfriend that things might not be working out, so I will need a plane ticket and a place to crash pretty soon.

To the new year!

Christina

Incidentally, I do not recommend trying this at home. Somewhere on the internet, a big red buzzer started flashing and beeping when I responded to the first email, alerting spammers everywhere that my account was in use and opening emails.

Any of you have suggestions as to what afflictions I should contract in time for my next email?

Spandex Disco Pants!

2011-01-01T13:33:00.004-05:00

That's what the email subject line read: "spandex disco pants!" Clearly, this was an email I needed to read.

Turns out that because of this blog right here, I was discovered by American Apparel in Switzerland. They're in DESPERATE need of models (let's face it: all the tall blondes there are kind of mutants), and they came across my website and knew I might have what it takes to model SPANDEX DISCO PANTS and make them super popular with the blonde mutants.

Oh baby, can I ever.

Pictures like this must have been what sealed the deal.

Let me share the email that is about to launch my modeling career.

Hy Christina!

i saw in a blog your answer , which has re

Hello!

My name is Danijel and

I am a fashion creator and i work for various fashion centres in switzerland. At the moment i have a job from american apparel switzerland.

They opened 2 stores last year! I really dont know how is that whit these spandex dicco pants by you over there, but here in switzerland these pants are not famous! Thats the reason because i need you!

It would be not a problem, to fînd a model here for a shooting but for only these few pics that we need, we really dont want to waist our time. we are salers no photographers :) So i have the exercise to find some girls, which want show us some pisc. We must search on the web, because here is nobody waer these pants. We want to improve the situation on the market, and thats difficult whit only 2 stores! Our sector is especially the DISCO PANT and SPANDEX LEGGINGS! We want to bring these trend back in live!

And now that, what interest you:

why you? we have 2 things what we want to do whit your pics if we like them:

1. we manufactured posters of you and show these as advertisements.( one for example infront of each store).

2. we bring you into our fashionmagazine 2010 for our clients.

and another important: if we will choose you, you get a prize of 250 swiss francs!

At the moment we have 3 girls, wich send us some photos.

Deadline is the end of Januar!

-we choose 3 pics, in front, from back and from side (thats the stances).

-Its not important where do you make the pics, but you must be the only person on picture.

The pictures must be clear!!!

-If you decide to send us some pics of you, look that is the pant tight on you, and if you wear a shirt or a pullover look thats no longer until your hips!

( we must see the pant)

-and please dont forget: only black spandex disco pants and Leggings

For last: dont think to much!

This organisation is only for us. Much more pics we have, much more we can choose and your chances are better.

You have few pics on your blog, but these are not right for us!

Take a digital camera and lets make some pics of you.

Sorry for this long long mail but now you know more and all important things.

Hope you understand???

And I really want you for our publicity because you looks great!

Its dont a joke!!! please give me an anwser, ok?

And really, you have talent for this bussines, i see this.

greeting, Danijel

Obviously, I got on this opportunity immediately. Here was the response I just sent.

Hi, Danijel,

Thanks for emailing me, I'm really excited about this! Ever since the car accident last year, where I lost my leg and both my eyebrows, it's been hard for me to find clothes that make me feel attractive and really complement my new body type. I can't wait to put on some disco pants, tie up the empty leg, and take some good photos to send you!

So when should I start packing for the fashion magazine shoots in Switzerland? If I'm going to move there to model disco pants, I think it's probably time to break up with my boyfriend. It's a new start for me anyway, and as a model I'm sure I'll find someone more attractive and with a better job than a doctor. Seriously, he's always performing life-saving surgery on some kid -- I'm tired of being ignored! This will show him!

Thank you for recognizing I'm more than a missing leg and a pretty face. I do have a talent for business, and I'm excited that I can get into this well-respected one. I have some big ideas for American Apparel, which I'm sure you're going to love. One freebie: elephant ear capes. Oh my gosh, it's going to be huge. Anyway, I should probably go ahead and find some disco pants and get started. Can't wait to see you! Ciao!

Christina

Readers: I could tell you otherwise, but it wouldn't be true. I'm totally going to forget you when I'm famous. Until then, however, I want to hear about the best email you've received from a complete stranger. Tell me in the comments!

Black Friday Lesson: How to Lose a Finger

2010-11-29T15:50:00.005-05:00

I wasn't planning to lose that finger. All I wanted was a few hundred dollars' worth of stuff for $3.97.

But the Black Friday Curse struck, and I'll never be the same.

You've never heard of the Black Friday Curse? Neither have I. I just named it, though, because it obviously exists -- otherwise, how do you explain how this seemingly beautiful post-holiday holiday severed the nerves in my pinky?

It wasn't the long lines or the cold weather. It couldn't have been the 80 lb. box of Oneida dinnerware I carried until all my fingers lost sensation. And I know for a fact that it wasn't the massive amounts of coffee I consumed, even though we know it constricts blood vessels and there are rumors that blood vessels are necessary.

No. The reason I can't feel my pinky finger anymore is the Black Friday Curse. And as I shake my partially numb fist at the heavens, I promise you this:

I will never shop Black Friday again.

At least not more than nine more times... because by then I'll be out of fingers.

The lesson? Fear the curses you don't even know exist, but name them well so the loss of limbs won't be in vain.

There's No Such Thing as a Stupid Question... Right?

2010-10-30T13:36:00.003-04:00

So, tell me again...

Why there is now a bench in the stall of the ladies' room in my building? Because I don't know about you, but I don't invite audiences.
Why I would be the resident expert on where to get a sympathy pregnancy belly? I can actually get pregnant -- I don't need to sympathize.
Why toothless babies are way cuter than ones with teeth? Is it because the tooth-ed ones are a little more dangerous, and some part of our subconscious has figured it out?
Why is Halloween way more awesome as an adult who's dressing up, than it was as a kid who could wear a burlap sack and demand candy wherever the doors open?
WHY didn't I call in sick so I could attend ZomBCon yesterday?
How come I don't have a picture in this post? I know pictures are like blog currency, so why am I not paying people to show up here?

What are you asking yourself this Saturday?

Prostitutes and Social Media

2010-10-20T15:41:00.004-04:00

Okay. I am officially The Worst Blogger Ever.

I get on a schedule. You guys like me.

I get off the schedule. You guys find The Oatmeal.

How can I compete with The Oatmeal? I don't have a mouse for my laptop -- there's no way I can illustrate punctuation!

Here's what I can do: tweet from under Seattle. Yep, you read that right. If you follow me on Twitter, not only will you get to see the strange things that pass through my head, but this weekend you'll basically be tagging along on the Underground Seattle Tour. This one, though, features prostitutes!

That was a lie. There are no actual prostitutes, just our noble prostitute history. But because it's awesome, I think you should follow me quick to make sure you don't miss out.

Oh, and would you do me a favor? Send me a message and let me know you started following me, so I can follow you, too!

Here's to happy Seattle underground prostitutes and the people who love them!

A Week So Bad a Bumper Sticker Made It Better

2010-10-10T15:54:00.005-04:00

It's been one of those weeks.

This is actually one of the best moments... thanks to whoever found this cheesy bumper sticker profound enough to adhere to his or her car.

Disclaimer: I, too, had some terrible bumper stickers on my first car.

Since I'm out of material (thanks, cold virus and hit-and-runner), why don't you tell me in the comments about your "I'm too pretty for this" moments?

I'm Rich, Are You?

2010-10-02T13:37:00.006-04:00

Do you have people in your life who makes it soooo much better than it seems logically possible for them to do?

I mean... let's say a person is worth 5 TPFTs (the unit of currency around this blog), and as you add up friends you see your little happiness bank account get fuller and fuller. But then you have this one friend who is magic like compound interest....!

I don't think I mentioned I finally opened a retirement account, did I?

Anyway. My point is, I am apparently a ~~financial~~ friendship genius, because I have several people like that in my life -- and I don't think that's common.

Here are a few of them.

Ace reporter Amy, who makes me food and hands me these never-empty wine glasses (told you: MAGIC). She is also the one who makes me buy the clothes that always end up being my favorites -- without her I'd be naked all the time.

Professor Laura, who now is far too far away from me, but loves me more than I deserve. We were roommates for several years, and she was the one who'd whisk me away when life was overwhelming... and we would just drive until things made sense. Or until we ran out of gas and got hungry. Even though the driving can't happen as often, she's still like a sister who has my back.

Carnie princess Ashley, who helped me survive the travails of grad school and living in a podunk town. Now she's off running an amusement park -- which makes sense, she's super amusing -- but is still the one I think of first when I want to plan a pirate-themed party or crave an extra-special milkshake.

Songbird Renee, who has been my sounding board through many hard moments. She's on my side all the time (even when maybe I don't want to be on my side). She also wrote my theme song. This isn't it, but you should still listen.

So many more people who love me and I love, but these are the first who come to mind. These are the people who are not obligated by blood or money to be around, but do it anyway.

So tell me in the comments: who in your life has enriched you so much more than makes sense? I want to know!

Beauty Is Transformative, or, What I Learned From a Recent Zombie Experience

2010-09-25T13:28:00.004-04:00

DISCLAIMER: My Twitter followers did not find my tweets about this interesting. HOWEVER, my Facebook pals thought it was hysterical... all that to say, it's kind of a toss-up how you'll feel about this post. You're free to stop reading and I'll forgive you.

Now on to the story...

Two nights ago, I dreamt I was being chased by zombies. Luckily zombies are super slow in more than half the films documenting their existence, so I actually wasn't aware I was being pursued... until I decided to hang out in a dark, Tim Burton-esque meadow. Smart.

Tip for zombie interactions: don't acknowledge them, it only encourages their behavior. Just keep pretending they don't exist.

So I saw a zombie coming up to me. Did I run? Shoot her in the head? Scream for a hero to help me?

No. All my zombie escape training went out the window.

I gave her a makeover.

In dreams, it's amazing how much you can carry without even knowing it. I gave this girl a whole new look -- everything from a blow-out to new makeup.

(The blow-out actually turned her hair pink and then it melted -- I'm not sure we're calling that a success.)

BUT.

She wasn't a zombie anymore!

What does this dream mean? It means that beauty is transformative. That unexpected love can heal what nothing else can help.

Way to go, subconscious!

Now, if I can only figure out why the makeover turned her from zombie into a talking coffee mug...

How to Be an Online Stalker Without Being a Real-Life Creep

2010-09-16T15:36:00.002-04:00

Over Labor Day weekend, I was thrilled to play [an often-lost] tour guide to a friend who visited me from Virginia. We went on the Seattle Lust Tour, the Underground Seattle Tour, shopped till I really thought I might drop, wine tasted, visited Lenin and the Fremont Troll, and got caught in a spontaneous dance party in the middle of downtown Seattle one night.

It was great.

But one activity was marred by the Weird.

Megan and I decided that we’d take the ferry out from the Seattle waterfront to Bainbridge Island, so we bought tickets and boarded.

“Do you have a sister named Katie?” Some guy popped into my line of vision, seemingly from nowhere, to ask me this question.

“Yes. Who are you?” I demanded in a pleasant fashion.

“I’m her friend!” he chirped. “Can I take your picture?”

Megan and I looked stupidly at one another, wondering what was happening. We took too long to formulate an answer, however, because he whipped out a professional-looking camera (also the type used by paparazzi and stalkers – zoom lens) and snapped several pictures.

“Thanks! Bye!”

Um.

I spoke to my sister this past weekend to ask her how this buddy knows who I am. She puzzled for a moment, then admitted it was probably through Facebook pictures.

Commence learning moment. Not for people like me who post pictures, but for people like him who act like they KNOW PEOPLE they’ve NEVER MET because they’ve MEMORIZED PICTURES OF STRANGERS.

It doesn’t go over well.

Moral of the story is, if you’re going to do this -- and I’ve heard quite a few people do… I have no personal experience as I’m too busy living a life of glamour and excitement – make sure you stay anchored to reality enough to remember with whom you’ve actually had conversations, and with whom you’ve only imagined entire conversations/friendships/relationships/movies.

One Year

2010-09-11T13:42:00.007-04:00

Today is the anniversary of something terrible. But, for me, it's also the anniversary of something good. One year ago today, I clicked "Publish Post" on my first Too Pretty for This blog post.

I don't think I would've started this blog on September 11 if it hadn't been for Christopher Penn and his Twitter challenge (you can read about it in my first post). I would've started it eventually, because I knew I needed it.

"Kairos" can be defined as the right word at the right moment.

I needed the right words in those moments a year ago. I had left a job I was good at and enjoyed (for reasons I won't go into). I was reeling from shattered relationships that were important to me. I was a writer who didn't write.

And for goodness' sake, I had swine flu and was in quarantine.

It was important to state with some sort of action that I was more than my circumstances, so I started Too Pretty for This. I never expected people -- you -- to connect to what I was saying, to email me during my extended blog absences, and to share your own stories with me.

It's amazing what happens in a year.

Wine tasting happens in a year... Sorry, most recent photo I have.
Also: I am bad at captions.

So although today is a sad day, for me it has a twinge of the beautiful, too. Thank you for a year of caring about why we are Too Pretty for This.

I Take Notes

2010-06-30T15:16:00.003-04:00

So because I'm super organized and have an iPhone, I regularly take cell-notes so I don't forget important things. These are a few of the items I felt it was important to record for future reference:

"Jews don't use reindeers, they drive Subarus." --my brother on the difference between Hanukkah and Christmas

"Hey! A finger peeler!" --my sister, on receiving a vegetable peeler

"We have a saying... 'It's like a dead man talking about cold butt cheeks.'" --a student, talking about who knows what

"Business opportunity: flame retardant underwear." --this seemed reasonable after the roller derby bout...

As you can see, I never forget a good idea. What are some of your winners?

We Almost Froze to Death in a Blizzard

2010-06-19T13:46:00.006-04:00

I promised you video, and it only took a month for me to follow through.

But so worth it.

Here, you will see me talk to you in a pompous way with my weirdly moving lips (seriously, everyone else learned to talk and look normal at the same time... but not me). You will hear poor Laura's lament about our misadventure. And you will learn the dark secrets of Yellowstone.

How can you not watch?

We survived, but JUST BARELY.

Christina Cross Country

2010-06-10T15:42:00.005-04:00

WELL.

This was supposed to be updated long before now, but my new camera -- the one with a YouTube sticker on the front -- apparently creates HUGE files when taking video. Not all that YouTube friendly, despite the misleading sticker. I tried uploading yesterday for an HOUR, and only got 45% of the way through a short clip.

So.

I feel angry (cue the T-Rex stomp), frustrated (do I even *have* two hours to upload a minute-long clip?), and completely unequal to the task of explaining how lovely it was to drive across the country with no real plan.

You know, other than to make it home alive.

On the way, I got sunburned by Lake Michigan...

Met the King of the Corn Palace...

Got stuck in a blizzard in Yellowstone...

And spent time with Laura Lee, who not only helped drive (like when I pulled over and said, "It's too windy! I've driven four miles! It's your turn again!") but also let me drag her everywhere in the name of sightseeing.

If I can ever get the video loaded, you will laugh and weep and experience every human emotion and feel a deeper connection to humanity. In the meantime, you can suffer and thank my stupid camera for it.

The Adventure Cometh

2010-05-21T16:09:00.001-04:00

Tomorrow, the adventure begins.

Stay tuned. I'll hopefully have video.

A Stranger Dream

2010-05-16T15:31:00.003-04:00

Ever have a dream that is so, so real that you wake up still half believing it?

I had one last night. But it was a nightmare. One that I pray will never come to be; it involved so much pain that I don't know I would survive it if I couldn't wake up.

SO, for those about to leave this Depression Alley, never fear. I want to tell you about a more entertaining dream I had last week -- both so you can enjoy the science fiction nature AND to train my brain toward happier (stranger?) thoughts.

===

The house was dark, the only light flickering in from outside the windows. We stayed inside because we thought... or hoped... we were safe.

There were creaks. Huge eyes stared stricken at one another, as we hoped the sounds were out beyond our walls. We whispered conversations, and pretended whispering was normal and that sitting in the dark was normal and that nothing at all was out of the normal.

It started with an orange. It rolled off the counter and hit the floor. As if tied by the same string, our heads whipped around in unison to watch it pick up speed as it rolled down the hallway.

Another orange, and then an apple, rolled off the counter and through the hall, and we knew the house was infected. Jumped off the floor. Someone grabbed a shopping cart and began throwing food into it that we could take with us as we fled.

Electronic humming started low, but grew louder in proportion to our panic. It was as if they knew we were attempting escape, and they'd have nothing of it. Moving grew harder, as the magnetic current, or gravitational pull -- or whatever term they'd used on the newscast -- pulled us strongly toward them. We leaned into our strides toward the door, the biggest one pushing the cart of food. I watched one slide and skid backward -- we couldn't save her, so we tried to move faster so we wouldn't succumb.

The machines. The DVD players, and iPods, and refrigerators, and light switches, and space heaters, and laptops, and irons... they were drawing us in with increasing force. We escaped this home, but would we escape it in the next?

Thanks For Keeping Us Alive

2010-05-08T20:25:00.003-04:00

I'm kind of selfish.

I don't want to share things.

I don't like being nice to people who annoy me.

I like sleep more than most things.

I love beautiful shoes and clothes more than sleep, though.

I have a temper.

People who manage to REALLY rile me (like to the point of The Silent Stare Angry) probably should watch their backs.

I don't like volunteering to help out. Unless it's finishing up some ice cream.

Housework is not my thing. Neither is laundry. Or really... anything that has to do with house stuff.

I like to point at people.

I drive too fast (or so I've been told).

Given the chance, I will *always* do something to make one or both of my siblings irritated... because it is the most fun thing to do in the world.

These are all good reasons why I'm not a mother. And while my own mom doesn't hate beautiful clothes and will occasionally bug one of my siblings (who could blame her when it's the most fun thing to do in the world?), she's put similar preferences aside to be a parent. She managed to corral me and keep me from pissing anyone off so badly as a child that someone strangled me. She force-fed me foods that made me grow really tall (wait...), and she convinced me to eat when I just wouldn't eat at all. And when problems came up that she couldn't fix, she gave me a hug and told me she loved me.

Thanks, Mom. Happy Mother's Day.

"No Subject"

2010-05-01T13:32:00.003-04:00

Take a look at my shapely leg.

Wait, you didn't notice the lovely curve of my calf, did you? What you were probably noticing was the result of intense determination without a lot of physical coordination.

It's a long story, involving my belief that desire + stubbornness + trying really hard = achieving whatever I want (thanks, after school specials for teaching me that falsehood). The story also involves me dropping a motorcycle on my leg.

I was angry with myself for not succeeding in what I wanted to accomplish the very first time (because I am Christina, the empress of awesome), I was irritated with my leg for its multi-colored status (it made swimsuit tryouts less than appealing), and the only way I reaped anything happy out of the situation was by forcing people to look at my calf when they obviously didn't want to (I even emailed pictures to friends, using deceptive email subject lines like, "no subject").

So tell me, when you hit that moment where you can give up or try again, how do you decide which one you'll do? Or do you just make everyone around you miserable with ugly pictures?

How To Make Skinny People Mad

2010-04-18T18:42:00.004-04:00

I remember the first time I called my sister ugly. It was actually the only time, because I was in a lot of trouble. At five years of age, you remember a sound spanking, a time out, and the absolute indignity of having to pretend to be sorry and apologize.

Ugh.

Obviously, I was the whole package back then. There's no way my sister could live up to this look.

The good news is I learned that it isn't okay to point out flaws to people. They probably already know, and if they don't HEY! even better.

So that's why today I don't walk down the street announcing to passersby their poorly chosen outfits, body odor, crooked noses, or bad posture.

Other people, it seems, haven't learned this lesson. And it's a pet peeve.

A few weeks back, I helped out a friend who was doing a video project for school. In it, I pretended to be athletic and health conscious (ha!), explaining why I'd given up driving to the gym and jogged there instead (to reduce gas consumption -- I was pretty much the most socially responsible person ever in that video).

When my friend showed the video to her class -- filled with professionals who were earning masters degrees -- they erupted into derogatory comments when I recited my line: "I've reduced my gas consumption and feel better -- I even lost a few pounds!"

According to my friend, I was labeled anorexic and unhealthy and all sorts of other things.

Guess what, people? I'm not anorexic. I'm small, I don't exercise or even eat particularly well, but I don't think that merits vicious comments or anger. Just like someone's obesity isn't license for me to make snide comments.

I'm not the only one who tires of this. I talked to a friend recently who gave birth to her second son, and in conversation with friends she mentioned she was looking forward to getting back to her pre-baby weight. She told me she felt that her reasonable desire was dismissed... because pre-baby weight, for her, meant going from a size 6 to a size 2. Only the "normal" women were allowed to comment about weight, and she was just whining (or bragging).

Another friend deals with people constantly telling her to gain a few pounds or telling her how lucky she is to be so thin. What they don't realize is she's been trying to gain weight for years, and can't. Doctors have no idea why. So she tries to paste on a smile when people comment about her weight when it's actually a really difficult situation.

Thin women have fat days. We have body dysmorphia, we have areas of our physique that make us insecure, and we actually can't "wear anything because [we're] so tiny!"

Can we all make a pact to be nice? To be polite? I'm sure there are things you dislike people bringing up, too.

If you stop getting mad at me when I say my clothes feel tight, I promise I won't tell you what I really think of your next haircut. Deal?

Me And My Straight Teeth

2010-04-11T17:38:00.003-04:00

Last week, a friend and I arranged to get together and make dinner. We hadn't seen one another in a long time and were looking forward to catching up.

She reminded me of a story I knew I had to tell all of you, because it really IS a "too pretty" moment.

My aforementioned friend hosted a birthday bash in early March. I knew her and a few of her friends, but having lived out of state for eight years, this wasn't a gathering of my closest and dearest.

Halfway through the evening, I was chit chatting on a couch with a few other people when I was targeted as an object of flirtation. Guy comes over, leans suavely on the back of the couch, and says:

"You have really straight teeth."

Me and my straight teeth.

What? Dude, if you want to use a memorable line, make sure it's memorable because I'm flattered and not because you come across like a moron.

I smile my tight-lipped I'm-pretending-to-be-nice smile, and told him my former orthodontist would be happy to hear it.

Since his first line didn't go over well, this guy reached into his bag of pick-up tricks for the next winner:

"You know, you look just like that girl from Sex and the City!"

Now I'm irritated, and decide that my good friend will either forgive me or stop inviting me to these things if I misbehave.

"Are you calling me a SLUT?" came the shrill response.

"What?! No, no... I meant that girl in the show! The one with the curly hair and shoes!" The guy fumbles, unsure why I'm not thrilled the way Dating for Dummies said I would be upon mention of Every Girl's Favorite Show.

"Well, now I know which slut you're comparing me to, so I guess that's good," I say, mentally adding that she's the one who cheated on Aidan and looks like a horse. "But she's not even one of the pretty ones."

"Uh..." he stutters, looking around desperately for help. His Ed Hardy-clad friends had vaporized, apparently, because he was all alone.

I took pity on his poor soul, and just turned around and began a conversation with a stunned onlooker. But I felt warm and fuzzy on the inside, which is what happens when you teach someone something valuable and improve their lives. Like Helen Keller's teacher, Annie Sullivan, or even Ron Clark today... same thing. This is what fulfills us.

Once an educator, always an educator.

The Fallen Hero

2010-03-30T21:17:00.004-04:00

The last few days, I've been thinking about a post I wrote a few months back. It was about being the hero or heroine in your own story and life, and I still believe there are a lot of good things about that idea, like taking action and responsibility to make things happen.

But I think there are also some potential pitfalls.

I recently started reading The Hero With a Thousand Faces, by Joseph Campbell, which talks about the universal traits of a hero -- the characteristics that show up in every story, regardless of culture, of every man or woman who has been preserved in story. It's fascinating, but I came across something even more interesting:

The Tyrant.

Campbell refers specifically to King Minos, who started his own story as a hero. His people loved him, he won the favor of the gods... and then he started acting in selfishness.

The short version, for those who don't want an instant education in Greek mythology, is that his self-centered living resulted in the Minotaur, a monster that lived in an underground stone maze and was fed human sacrifices. And despite causing the death of countless innocents, King Minos continued to see himself as the hero.

I think that's still true today. People live their stories believing they are heroes, though they act as tyrants.

One way you can identify them is that they don't believe in other stories.

You are cast in their story, the one in which they are good and loved and wonderful even while they cause destruction everywhere. Your lack of faith in the tyrant's heroism might be seen as betrayal or disloyalty. But your choice to live your own story is one that infuriates the tyrant most.

And I think that may be the biggest fault of this fallen, misguided hero... the violence he or she commits in attempting to force one story on all.

As part of our own story and in our own journey, let us be careful in casting people too much in roles they may not want to live out.

Have you been dealing with tyrants, too?

The Accident

2010-03-21T14:14:00.005-04:00

A week ago Thursday, I was in a car accident.

Driving home from Seattle, I was taking the exit off I-5 onto Highway 540. If you're familiar with the area, you know that to make that exciting move I had to enter a one-lane tunnel that was engineered to be a downward-sloping blind curve.

It was in the tunnel I saw it -- a crumpled car, crushed against the cement wall. I braked and swerved and managed to avoid the vehicle.

"Thank God," I breathed... just as I was hit from behind by another driver.

The back of the driver's seat thumped my head forward as the sound of shattering lights and crunching metal echoed in the tunnel. I sat stunned for a moment. The driver pulled alongside me.

"Are you okay? Can you move?" he yelled.

I nodded. "I think so!" Realizing that staying still was only going to result in a dangerous pile-up, I motioned that I was going to try driving out of the tunnel. As I did, it hit me:

The tunnel leads to a bridge. The bridge has nowhere to pull over. This guy could easily drive off into the night, and I had no name, insurance policy number, not even his car's tags. There was nothing I could do to keep him from speeding off into the night.

Instead, he drove slowly behind me across the span of the bridge and to the first exit. We exchanged information, and he asked if I knew how to get home. I confessed I didn't know where the next entrance to the highway was, so he looked up directions for me before I drove off.

And then I got pulled over for a broken (let's face it -- smashed to bits) tail light.

I explained to the police officer that it had only been broken for about 15 minutes, and I was on my way home. He was very kind, but still had to run my license. While he was in his car, a truck pulled over in front of me and out stepped my unlikely friend. He walked back to the officer and explained he'd rear ended me.

On his way back to the car, he said he didn't want me to get a ticket on top of getting my car bashed. I thanked him and said I hoped the rest of his night went better, and in an attempt at cheerfulness he said, "It can't really get much worse."

But it could've been. I thought back over all the nights that had been worse than a car accident with no serious injuries. I thought of the inches and fractions of seconds that could've made that night one where someone didn't make it home.

I also thought of all the opportunities that young man had to escape. He had the opportunity to run from his responsibility. He could've chosen to do the wrong thing and thank his stars I didn't have any recourse. Instead, he chose to do the right and good thing, even when it cost him something.

It might not seem like a big deal, but in the past year I've had a lot of people choose easy instead of the hard thing that was right. How the consequences of their choices affected people like me wasn't as important as saving their own skin or priorities or story.

To me, it seemed a given that would happen again.

I am so thankful. Not for the accident itself, of course, but for the reminder that there are good people who see beyond themselves. I thought maybe they'd all disappeared.

I'm glad some are still around.

Christina v. the Universe

2010-03-02T22:10:00.004-05:00

Last week, I tried to blog. But then I got tired/busy/insane and didn't. So here's the quick update:

I had a birthday and I spent part of it at the DMV having infants a full decade younger than me make me feel old and tired. My effort on makeup and hair were pointless by the time I stepped in front of a camera... I looked like an irritated, shiny horse.
I spent a beautiful sunny day at Pike Place Market with my sister, and then later in the evening we met up with friends. After a few drinks, I demanded chocolate mousse. We tramped around downtown Seattle until we realized there wasn't any... ever again.
I sent my wayward vehicle to the doctor and cheated on it with a rental. It was lovely. I am now a fan of affairs, or at least car affairs. And my car is now okay and I had to take it back into my life (boo).
My friend Amber revealed to me that this website (yes, this one!) is blocked by morality filters, flagging it as "adult in nature." I am flattered.
"What idiocy can I vanquish today?" I yelled to the universe one morning. The universe yelled back, "None! Because I will overwhelm you with idiots!" Universe: 1, Christina: 0.
The best hockey game ever. That is all.

There were other things that would shock and horrify you, causing you to exclaim our rallying cry of "too pretty for this!" but the prettiness inside me is wilty right now. I want to take a vacation, but I want it to be to another time in my life, not necessarily another place. Trust me, though, when I say that I'm living through further fodder for this site.

If I can just survive it.

I Got Hit By A Bus

2010-02-12T20:24:00.005-05:00

Yesterday, I got hit by a bus.

This is not a metaphor. It's not an exaggeration, tall tale, or even a blatant lie.

It's the truth. And I am too pretty for it.

I was driving in Seattle, on my way home from work. I innocently took a right-hand turn, which caused my lazy car to cough and stall. With the remaining momentum, I strong-armed it to the side of the road and put my flashers on (why yes, I *have* done this before).

Cars zoomed around me, shooting me sympathetic, glad-it-wasn't-me glances. I was just happy I was safe.

That lasted maybe two minutes.

As the bright lights in my rearview mirror alerted me to the bus pulling around the corner, I realized... I was sitting at a bus stop.

And Seattle's buses run on cables.

Ohhhh...kay.

So. I'm fine, my car is okay, and now I have the pleasure of adding one more story to my repertoire. But this means that, at least for awhile, all whining I encounter gets met with, "Oh, yeah? I got hit by a BUS!"

There are perks to having public transportation vehicles plough into you, after all.

Plus, people tell you they're worried you're tweeting from the dead, and that's kind of awesome, too.

Three Discoveries To Change Your Life

2010-02-06T18:25:00.007-05:00

This week I made some huge discoveries. The world will never recover.

Huge Discovery #1: You don't have to drink coffee for it to work its magical waking powers.
No, you can settle for pouring it down yourself at 6:35 a.m. on the way to work -- it will STILL cause increased alertness! Still to be tested: can it be used as a weapon? Jen and I may run some tests...

Today I decided to drink it...

Huge Discovery #2: If there's no street parking during rush hour, just stop your car in the middle of the road and turn on your flashers.
People will drive around you and never stop to see if you're actually in trouble. If I'd taken advantage of this opportunity, I could've walked down the street to get a cup of hot chocolate. Instead, I wasted my time calling AAA... silly me.

Huge Discovery #3: Australians think Americans smell bad.
In an email exchange with an Australian gentleman, I was called a "Septic." Urban Dictionary told me it's because "septic tank" and "Yank" rhyme -- and because the world in general has a dismal view of the USA. Luckily, I was also called a "top sheila" so I felt confident that it all evened out. At any rate, septic tanks are useful so I think it's kind of patriotic to be useful and septic and I'm calling everyone that from now. IF they love the red, white and blue, anyway.

I did the research, I wrote the report. Now make your life awesome.

You're welcome, World.

Any of you researchers make huge discoveries this week?

Brush With the Underworld

2010-01-30T15:38:00.003-05:00

Saturday morning cartoons were the best part of waking up on the weekends when I was little. Now, the best part of waking up on a non-weekday is it being past 5:30 a.m. But in an attempt to recall those golden days of youth, I'll share a Saturday Story.
===

A few years ago, two friends and I went to a local Mexican restaurant for lunch. It was chosen based on location and cheapiness, not on the quality of the food, but it was a good place to catch up in the midst of hectic grad school days.

While we were eating and chatting, we noticed a man in sunglasses and a suit. He walked in, flanked on either side by thug-like friends. The waiters began lining up to talk to him and shake his hand.

"Who is that?" "Why is he so important?"

In the middle of nowhere as we were, it didn't make sense for some dignitary to be around, especially at the dingy Pueblo Viejo. That's when my brilliance struck.

"Guys!" I hissed. "He's probably in the mafia! The MEXICAN mafia!"

"I don't know, that seems a little far-fetched," one friend reasonably said. "Wait, is that the manager coming out to talk to him?"

"Yes!" I whispered furtively. "Because he needs protection!"

Just then, the Mobster walked over to our table. We three froze.

"How's the food, ladies? Is it good?" he jovially called out.

We responded in unison: "Yes, it's great!"

He strolled out with his henchmen, and we stared out the window as he got into an older car with tinted windows.

"Maybe he IS in the mafia!"

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, he is. Unless he's like Erik Estrada or something, there's no other explanation."

Just then, a waiter walked by, and one of the other girls nearly grabbed him. "Who was that guy? The one in the suit?"

He looked at us excitedly. "Have you ever seen the TV show, CHiPs?!"

Oh.

I Would Text You Some Love

2010-01-23T16:41:00.005-05:00

Aww, you all are so great!

I've been MIA the last few days because I started my new job on Wednesday, and have been busy trying to learn huge yachts of information... and then meeting up with friends after work. This is because 1) they all want to hang out now that I'm working nearby, and 2) they are worried that I will get lost on my way home from work and want to make sure I know where I'm going.

So it was AWESOME to return to this blog and, instead of dead desert with tumbleweeds rolling across the page, see all your encouraging comments. Thank you!

This would be much more impressive if I'd flipped the picture so you could read the text. Now you're going to have to try holding your screen up to a mirror or something.

About the new job: I'm conflicted about how much I should talk about it here. Not because I want to say bad things (I don't!), but because I want to take some time to decide how I'll define boundaries. I did that with my posts about teaching, too.

If you want to know the bare bones, you can get LinkedIn (shameless, but come on... you know you want to be professionally networked to me) and see where I'm working and my job title. To give that skeleton a tiny bit of cartilage, a lot of what I'll do every day involves writing, talking to people, and coming up with (hopefully) good ideas... fun stuff. Stuff I like to do even when I'm not getting paid.

How are all of you doing? Tell me in the comments! I'm trying to get caught up on reading all your blogs/Twitters/novels/etc., but even a teeny update would make me happiest of all Christinas.

Mishmash, Hodgepodge & Tarnation

2010-01-18T14:31:00.006-05:00

You wonderful people who have kept coming to read even when I've been less than faithful in my writing? I just want you to know I love you. This post is a giant "THANK YOU," catch-up, and newsy bit.

Ready?

Thanks
First, thank you for reading! Yes, you! Because your comments and Twitter love keep inspiring me -- love it! Second, I have to thank a few people for the blog awards they generously threw my way.

This one came from Nathanael over at This Is How It Feels. Although we've argued over the best future locale for Sara, we're generally blog buddies and this is a huge compliment. Thanks!

I don't think Monique (aka the SurferWife) meant to give me both of these, but I'm the kind of girl who takes advantage of ambiguity and will claim ownership of BOTH. That's actually why she likes me in the first place, I think.

Who gets the next round of these babies? I'm sending all three the way of Sara Spelled Without an H, the Aspiring Fashionista, and Sizzle Says.

Catch-Up
I just wrote a review of soon-to-be published Will Jesus Buy Me a Double-Wide? ('Cause I Need More Room for my Plasma TV) by Karen Spears Zacharias. You can see it over at my other online home, Christina is Online.

Newsy-ness
If you've been following my saga, you know I recently moved to Washington State. Yay! And while I love the carefree lifestyle of unemployment (ha), I'm also happy to say I just accepted a new job! I start on Wednesday, and am looking forward to a new challenge.

What does that mean for this blog?

It will still be here. I will still be here. And I anticipate being able to post more regularly, because I'll have a stable schedule. So don't leave me (please!), because I want to grow old with you. Or... at least keep up the conversation. Okay?

Happy Monday!

I Think I'm A Flamingo

2010-01-12T15:47:00.007-05:00

I've always liked the word "quirky."

It sounds fun and much more positive than "weird." And it's younger than "eccentric," which is my eventual life adjective goal.

Today I read a post by Glen Stansberry over at LifeDev.net about embracing the things that make a person unique. I admitted, in the comments and on Twitter, that lately I've been making zombie noises when I get frustrated (so basically a CONSTANT soundtrack of the undead).

And here, I reveal exclusively to you Too Pretty readers that I noticed that when I shower, I turn into a flamingo and insist upon standing on one leg. Sometimes I switch, but never do I have both legs supporting me at once. Safety first? Obviously not.

Another quirk? Taking super cheesy pictures... WHILE STANDING ON ONE LEG!

There is a part of me that does not want to embrace those quirks. Another part of me that sounds a lot like my brain says embracing the weirdness doesn't necessarily entail admitting to it on the internets. So why am I?

Because this is who I am.

And because I once got advice from someone much wiser than me when we spoke about the possibility of my non-acceptance into the doctoral program of my dreams. I explained how I was worried that maybe my area of study didn't fit the "theme" the selection committee had that year, and maybe they'd snicker at such a Scandinavian-named girl coming in wanting to research Jewish visual rhetoric.

"If those things are true, but you were accepted anyway, is that a place where you could thrive?" she asked.

I blinked uncomprehendingly. "What do you mean?"

"If their goal is to reproduce scholars similar to themselves, then they will do so and select the candidates they think best suited for that goal. But if they want to invest in students who will go out and find their own unique niches, they will again work to find candidates who are suited to do so. What kind of student and scholar would you prefer to be?"

"Well, obviously the second kind."

"Then whether or not you're accepted, it sounds like it will be the best situation for you."

Which is another way of saying that my quirks not only make it easier to pick me out of a crowd of bland, but they also work as a filter to protect me from people and situations and haircuts that aren't going to help. I just need to love my quirks and let them live in my life.

I guess admitting to a few of them is my first step.
===

I miss you all! So jump into the comments, say hello, and tell me about the quirks you're embracing.

Lessons From A Dairy Farmer

2010-01-07T15:45:00.004-05:00

Yesterday I talked to a farmer named Brock.

He grew up in the area, because generations of his family owned a local dairy farm. As we chatted, he greeted people and joked around with them. After each encounter, he told me a tiny piece of their lives... usually about their connection to the farming community.

He explained how difficult it's been to find ways to save his own farm. He hosts events, makes cheese, and used to sell raw milk before regulation made it unprofitable. His brother operates a roadside stand offering fresh produce during the summer and fall. In October, the two of them open up their pumpkin patch to families, and then chop Christmas trees in November and December.

We talked about Carnation Farms, and how sad it was when Nestle bought it more than a decade ago. It was one of my favorite places, mainly because during National Dairy Month they gave away free ice cream. I discovered that my childhood tour guide of the farm had been my new friend.

I've been gone from this community for so long.

When I run to the grocery store, I smear makeup on my face so that if I run into someone from high school I won't wonder if there are pillow creases on my face. When I see someone I knew forever ago, I wonder what they'll say to whom after we part ways.

But I forgot how nice it is to have things in common. To not have to explain my town's name, to know the same places, to share experiences common only to locals.

I realized yesterday that one branch of my family has lived in this area for about 100 years. It stopped me in my tracks. And while I don't know if I'll be here forever, I'm really glad this is where I started.

Thanks, Brock.

From Ghetto To Granny

2010-01-04T16:23:00.005-05:00

Most of the time, I think I'm pretty awesome.

It's taken years of shaking off expectations, the weight of other people's goals, and personal insecurities to have that general attitude. But I like myself, and generally other people do, too.

Sometimes the reasons why *I* like me and *others* like me are different. This story represents one of the latter.

In grad school, I spent a lot of time in the cubicle I was given. It would've been fantastic if I'd spent all that time studying, but much of it was actually invested in grading, venting, and watching YouTube clips from "Teen Witch" and "Music & Lyrics."

But there was also a lot of singing and dancing, at least when Meng and I were in the office together. We'd take turns playing songs (or letting Jason serenade us with TLC's "Scrubs"), but one day I opted for something different.

For Meng's entertainment, I belted out Blaque's "She Ain't Got the Boom Like I Do" at the top of my lungs.

No one else was around, so I did a few gyrations to emphasize the classy lyrics... and amidst her laughter, I heard a cough.

"Um... Ms. Olson?"

How in the world did someone find his way through the cubicle jungle without a sound?

Thank goodness for teacher glasses and pulled-back hair, because it sped the transformation from ghetto to granny.

Love you, local radio station, for reminding me today of this precious memory...

Have you ever tried to regain your composure and professionalism in a split second? Tell me more, puh-lease.

Radioactivity And Lava

2010-01-02T14:02:00.002-05:00

Now that it's been nearly two weeks since my move, I thought I'd summarize some of the activities. It might explain my less-frequent posting, my strange Tweets... or just confuse further.

I watched fake snow fall in Westlake Center in Seattle... two days after the two-foot snowfall in DC that paralyzed the entire east coast. This snow at least looked radioactive to keep people interested.
I met Rob Lowe's younger twin at a coffee shop when he struck up a conversation about my iPhone.
I almost ended up in a ditch thanks to icy roads. I don't like icy roads.
I learned how to put chains on tires (I didn't actually *d0* it, but I watched).
I spent New Year's Day at my friend's house in the Cascade Mountains.
At the cabin, I watched a snow plow driver nearly slide his vehicle into the house.
I bought the most amazing boots with ruffles and happiness in every stitch.
You may have missed the TwitPic, but Amy and Trevor and I made a gingerbread outhouse. With lava on the roof.
My absence in Virginia has provoked at least one verified act of depression shopping, resulting in a huge television and Wii purchase.
I launched another website, ChristinaisOnline.com, to serve as a hub for all my online activities.

Now I've also learned that I'm kind of boring and/or forgetful.

At any rate, life is good. I'm happy about the new year, because I know if I survived 2009 then I'll be okay in 2010. Second day of the new year: how are YOU?

Be Really Good At Being Really Bad

2009-12-29T16:29:00.004-05:00

"If you can't be good at something, Christina, you should be really good at being bad at it."

I took my mother's advice to heart.

One time, I knew my tires were low and was hoping to get someone to put air in them for me. So I drove to an auto supply store, and in a wide-eyed, damsel-in-distress fashion, asked where the tire gauges would be and what they looked like.

The guy behind the counter could see he was going to have to be a hero, so he guided me to the tire gauges, explained why I didn't need the most expensive one they carried, and showed me how it worked. After I paid for it, he then demonstrated -- on each of my four tires -- how to test the air pressure.

"So," I asked cautiously, "How does one get air in the tires once you know they're low?"

My new friend explained that he couldn't leave the shop to fill my tires at the gas station across the street, but gave detailed instructions. He hesitated, then asked how far I planned to drive that day.

"Why?"

"Because you have a bald tire. And I mean, it's really bad. I'd be worried that it might blow if you get on the freeway."

Oh, dear. That was a slight problem. It got dealt with, but here are the truths I think this story demonstrates:

If you don't know something, ask. I really didn't know where the tire gauges were, and I didn't know how to use them.

Make it clear that you know someone is doing you a good turn. It made that guy's afternoon that he got to save the day for pretty little me. And I batted my eyes, hung on his every word, and thanked him for his help to let him know his expertise and assistance were appreciated.

Sometimes, you get more than you expected... and that's a good thing. People like to help when help is appreciated. Not only did this guy make sure I bought the most reasonably priced tire gauge, make sure I understood how it worked, and then check all my tires, but he threw in an extra bonus when he told me I was gambling with my life every time I zoomed up to 70 on the interstate.

We both benefited and felt happy about our interaction. All because I was really good at being really bad at something.

The Anti-Resolution List

2009-12-28T14:40:00.004-05:00

I'm not a resolutions kind of girl.

Mainly because I know I'll lose my list long before the end of the year, so even if I wanted to keep any eye on my progress, I wouldn't be able.

My name is Christina and I lose everything.

But I also avoid resolutions because I don't think life is about creating new hateful habits (exercising a bazillion hours every week! surviving on carrot sticks and lemon water!) or breaking old ones I like (you will never take my coffee away). If I'm going to reflect over the year, it's to see what I liked and what I want to try differently the next time around. I won't be building myself guilt traps. I'll be giving myself permission to enjoy life and grow it into something amazing.

Here's how I try to do it.

I plan to do at least one big thing that I haven't done before. This is kind of an every year plan; 2009's Big Thing I Haven't Done Before was a roadtrip with my best friend. We had a vague plan for the journey, only knowing for sure we'd stop at two old southern cemeteries. On a whim, we drove down to St. Augustine, enjoyed the day, and then drove all night to Virginia so I could teach a 7:40 a.m. class.

I wrote a Dammit List. I wish I could say this was my idea, but it actually came from the brilliance that is Havi Brooks. Basically, it's a manifesto, a collection of personal statements, that define for you (and others) how your life will be conducted. I built upon the Dammit List concept by actually organizing a Dammit Day, and convincing others to write their lists, too. (I get pushy when it comes to the well-being of others, but if they don't like it they can stop talking to me.)

I commit to trying to ask myself the right questions. Welcome to nerd talk, but I truly believe it: if you don't know how to ask the right questions, you're never going to get helpful answers or solutions. So when I come up against hard decisions or scary choices, I try to ask good questions: Am I making this decision out of fear? If so, what am I afraid of? Do I really have more time than I'm giving myself to choose? How might I grow through this opportunity?

I laugh. Because most things are funny from the right perspective, and even the bad things can make for a good story -- it's all in how you tell it.

Now it's your turn. What works best when you contemplate a brand new year? Are you a hard-core resolutions writer or a que sera, sera kind of person? Share your approach in the comments!

In A Strange Land

2009-12-26T14:48:00.005-05:00

I didn't realize I'd stepped through the looking glass.

But things -- little things -- didn't add up.

The hours of waiting. The strange sounds. The phone calls that never came. And that disembodied voice that intoned, "You've got mail."

Yes. I'd left the Land of the Living and stumbled into 1995.

AOL.

Dial-up.

Noooooooooooo!

So while I'm residing in this strange land for awhile, I was smart (lucky?) enough to bring my iPhone and laptop. And although new posts won't appear every day, I'll be writing often (meaning more days than not) and Tweeting throughout my waking hours.

I will also be taking obscene numbers of cheesy photos with my overweight dog.

How are all of you? I feel like I've been missing out on your lives, so please fill me in!

The Plan Was Super Easy

2009-12-23T13:25:00.006-05:00

The plan was super easy: I was going to get on a train Saturday morning, arrive in Washington, DC three hours later, and enjoy a day of tromping around the city with friends before flying to Seattle the following night.

And then it snowed.

You may have seen the TV coverage of the two-foot blanket of white we received. It was really rotten timing, and I was mad. Unlike many, I've always distrusted snow. Sure, it looks pure and friendly, but it shoves cars off the road, freezes pipes, and takes all the bread off grocery store shelves.

The night of The Big Snow, I stayed with my travel buddies. In the horrifyingly white morning, Hunter dug out his four wheel drive truck and took us to the train station. We managed the difficult, uncleared roads and hills just in time to get the truck stuck in the parking lot.

But then we rushed aboard the train just in time! We were safe! And headed to a Big City with a Big Airport where everything would be okay. The train started off, and we relaxed in the knowledge that we'd all get to our destinations.

Then the train stopped. It continued stopping, with very few interruptions, for ten hours.

Meaning we got to DC around 11:00 p.m., about 13 hours after left. Amtrak's slogan waved goodbye: "Amtrak: Enjoy the Journey!"

Bah, humbug.

We arrived at the hotel at midnight and collapsed into bed. The next morning, we learned my flight was still on time (yay!), so we spent the day wandering in the snow and drinking coffee.

In the late afternoon I took an exciting shuttle ride with a friendly man who eagerly disregarded lights, lanes, and laws to get me to the airport on time.

I got some food! I found my terminal! I waited to get on my plane! It was delayed ten minutes!

Wait, what? That's not good. My layover was only scheduled to be 40 minutes... but the DC airline rep told me I'd be fine.

The airline rep in Minneapolis apologized instead, and handed me vouchers for food and a hotel stay.

So I wearily waited for the Ramada shuttle. I climbed aboard, and the driver announced that our hotel was next door to the Mall of America. I checked my ticket for the next morning: 7:20 a.m. So no cheesy sight-seeing for me.

Sigh.

I was zoomed next to a creepy hotel that was apparently modeled after the one in The Shining. The woman at the reception desk said to take the elevator to 2R, and then find my room -- 436 -- from there. Um, okay, that makes no sense, but I figured maybe it was a rambler-type hotel and then ran out of both 200s and 300s and thus had the 400s on the same level.

What a silly thing to believe. No, the hotel hallways actually SPIRALED upward to the 400 level. Creepy noises and poor lighting led me to believe I had a fair chance of being murdered or see rivers of blood, so I kind of sprinted up the spiral until I found my tastefully decorated room.

I called people to say goodbye in case I was murdered in my sleep, and went to bed.

Jumped out of bed the next morning, raced downstairs, and climbed on the airport shuttle. Bad-breathed debate team members with Minnesota accents discussed the merits of speeding up and slowing down speeches while analyzing them. I refrained from leaping onto my seat and yelling that I am a speech professor ON VACATION and they all NEEDED SOME BREATH MINTS.

(Santa's watching. Plus I hadn't eaten breakfast and really didn't have the energy.)

Hours of being shuffled around by people who didn't understand that I really meant it when I said I TRIED to use the kiosk check-in already -- yes, both Northwest AND Delta -- and it didn't work because it wasn't working, NOT because I'm an imbecile... and then a brief stint of securitizing, and I was on a plane to Seattle.

It arrived. As did my best friend, who was picking me up. And we didn't get into any accidents or explosions along the way home.

But I'm really scared to try leaving again.

So yes... while this is not the world's worst travel story (I met one girl who was on her third day of delays and was worried about missing her wedding!), it was pretty tiring and also why I needed to decompress a bit before reliving it for you here.

But now it's your turn: tell me YOUR travel horror stories!

Soon soon soon!

2009-12-21T17:42:00.002-05:00

I haven't died. I haven't given up on this blog. I've just had an extended travel experience that I will soon share... but for now I need to focus on sleeping, eating, and teaching my mom how to [quietly] play Catch-a-Mouse on my iPhone while I work.

Don't leave me lonely, though! Tell me how you've been the last few days in the comments. Or you can interact with me on Twitter (big thanks to those of you who kept me company on that train ride... wow).

Hope your days have been merry and bright! I'll be back soon!

A Good Man

2009-12-18T22:31:00.002-05:00

A good man died.

He showed up in my life when he showed up for my grandfather’s memorial service in 2005. Despite years of hardship and illness, he came to say goodbye to his best friend… and to make sure I knew my grandpa.

He told me stories; stories that were familiar but not how I’d heard them.

Once, my grandpa told me a story about a man in the concentration camps, who saw his friend selected for the gas chambers.

“He was a good employee and a good friend, so of course the man had to save him,” Grandpa said. “So he took a corpse from the barracks – someone who had died during the night – and put it in the gas chamber. Then he grabbed his friend and took him away. The Nazis counted the bodies. They didn’t care who was actually in there.”

“Your grandpa, he was a good employer and a good friend,” came the new version of the story. “So of course he had to save the man. He was smart, your grandfather. He knew the Nazis would only count bodies.”

Story after story transformed in each new telling. My grandpa was the hero in all of his own stories. His best friend wanted me to know.

He sent me a card when I graduated from college, telling me confidently that his best friend would be proud of me.

He came to my grandmother’s memorial service, and praised me for working on my master’s degree. “You are very smart, like you grandfather. Him,” -- here he gestured toward my then 12-year-old brother -- “He’s a ladies’ man. Also like your grandfather.”

The last time I saw him was this past March at my cousin’s wedding. It was hard for him to speak, and he tired easily. His wife confided that he came mainly to see his best friend’s grandchildren.

We sat down, and he told me more stories. One was about how my grandfather stole his name, but he forgave him. He told me that if I chose to pursue my PhD in New York, I was welcome to stay with him and his wife.

“I wouldn’t want to cause you any trouble!”

He gazed at me for a moment before speaking. “How could I not do something good for my best friend’s granddaughter if I had to the power to do it? What would I say to him? You aren’t trouble. You are Jack’s granddaughter.”

He was a good man who wanted to comfort a grieving grandchild. He was a good friend who wanted stories and a legacy to continue.

You might not notice the difference, but I do. The world is poorer without this man in it.

Goodbyes Can Be Good

2009-12-17T12:52:00.005-05:00

In a few short hours, I won't own most of my stuff anymore.

A fraction of my belongings got shipped west. I nearly broke my back carrying one box of books, so I was really glad when the Post Office gentleman offered me a cart for the remaining three.

But most of my things are get adopted by new homes, because sending it cross-country doesn't make sense.

So I said goodbye to the couch. It's held me on cold days when I curled up to read, when I threw myself down to cry, or when I laid there for hours staring at the ceiling, struck down with swine flu.

I bid my bed adieu. The place where I dreamed, studied, and talked on the phone hours into the night... we're going separate ways.

My dressers full of clothes and secret stashes of gifts and chocolate. My desk and swivelly green chair that never got the use they should've (studying... in college?). My tables and bookshelves and coffee mugs... it's time to part.

But as I shed these old things, things I like or love or have attached to memories, I'm shedding weight that could keep me from the things I want more.

I have to say goodbye, because my life is being made new.

Confession Session

2009-12-16T10:04:00.006-05:00

Today's a fun day, friends! Not only is the sun shining and my coffee getting downed, but I'm also guest blogging over at Confessions of a Twenty Something Year Old.

Yay!

Cheryl's one of my favorite bloggers, and runs a weekly series about bad dates. If you pop over there right now, you can read about one of my mine.

Uh... yay?

So go read my guest post, but be sure to check out Cheryl's writing if you haven't yet discovered her. Fantasticness personified.

One more plug: if you'd been following me on Twitter, you would've heard about this last night. Who wants me in 140 character increments?

Happy Hump Day, friends!

Questions I Never Heard

2009-12-15T13:21:00.007-05:00

I don't always hear things correctly. When I respond to something entirely different than what was actually said, I realize by the looks I get how inappropriate I've been.

I also come across as someone with whom people can be open, honest, and say strange things. So in honor of yesterday's random conviction that I would be arrested and last night's looooong dream about cleaning my microwave (yeah, I'm on a wave of weird right now), I'm giving you a taste of questions I've asked or thought I heard.

Enjoy.
===

"So you said there's a dead foot in your car?"

That's what I thought he said. He actually asked if I could fit a bookshelf in my car. It isn't the same.

"It's going to shit. In a handbasket. Who even WANTS shit in a handbasket?"

It's a valid question.

"You want to be me? You want my job? Then you're going to be constantly hounded to wear a slutty nurse costume."

Yeah, I had a job (err, boss) like that.

"What eunuchs are you planning to do?" "Um, I don't do eunuchs."

I'm surprised people don't confuse "eunuchs" and "units" more often. I can't be the only one. My professor seemed to think I was, however.
===

PLEASE tell me I'm not the only one who occasionally makes these mistakes!

I'm Not In Jail, So That's Good

2009-12-14T15:14:00.003-05:00

This button has caused me untold sorrow and frustration. It almost got me arrested.
Last night, I was driving home from a Christmas party when I discovered that my car windows didn't work. None of them.

So I wearily made a mental note to call the garage in the morning and see how much money it would take to fix this problem. Because it's fun to drop a few hundred on car windows around Christmas time.

At 4 a.m., I woke up panicked. I realized that I could get pulled over! My windows wouldn't roll down when the cop came over! I'd open my door and he'd yell at me for getting out of the car, and before I could explain I'd be thrown to the ground and handcuffed! And if I tried to tell him about my windows, I'd be charged with resisting arrest!

Those stupid windows were getting me put away, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

I didn't fall back asleep. So I worried for two more hours until my alarm went off, and then I went to give an exam. I stopped at Starbucks before heading to the garage, and explained to a friend how I was probably going to jail because of my broken windows.

"Um... could I take a look at them?" asked my friend. "I don't know much about cars, but I'd hate for you to go to the garage or get arrested."

"Sure, what's the harm?"

Andy walked out to my car, pushed THAT button, and suddenly my windows worked again. Apparently I have a window lock.

While my friend was nice enough not to laugh at me, the mechanic was not. But I am not in jail.

Three Pretty Things : 12/13

2009-12-13T14:59:00.005-05:00

Pretty things, pretty things... yes, they happened, but did I pay attention this week?

Not as well as I would've liked. But here are some that I did manage to catch.

My last drive to teach my last class at the community college.

Makeshift menorah when I couldn't find my own. This picture is abnormally clear because I didn't take it: my friend Renee (with whom I celebrated the first night of Hanukkah) snapped this one.

This picture makes me laugh. Laura came to help me pack, because she knows I always end up hyperventilating. This picture was taken the moment after she dumped out an old purse onto my carpet.

"It looks like... turds!" she screeched. "No, wait. These are cookie crumbs. Why do you have cookie crumbs in your purse?"

"Because someone put a cookie in my purse," I responded with an eye roll.

Ah, memories.

Tell me: with the holiday rushing, were you able to notice the pretty things? If so, what were they?

We Interrupt This Regularly Scheduled Blogging...

2009-12-12T13:22:00.005-05:00

This is my apartment.

This is me.

Is there a connection? Probably.

Sorry, guys, but I'm off to the land of boxes and Windex today. I'm bringing in reinforcements, so we can clean and make faces faster.

If you miss me desperately, go see the latkes I made last night for Hanukkah. And then follow me on Twitter, because I'm pretty sure I'll make witty remarks about packing throughout the day (like, "WHY, GOD, WHYYYYY?").

Fresh Memory

2009-12-11T13:28:00.005-05:00

For reasons big and small, I'm all about remembering.

And once you start that trip into Memoryland, you find more and more moments you stored away, and you get to enjoy them all over again. Like Russian dolls... you open one up and you find ANOTHER one. And ANOTHER. You have no idea how long this will go, and it's kind of fun.

So here's what we're going to do. We're going to share memories today, because I LOVE that. I run the show here, so while I get to dictate, you still have to choose to participate... please do! I'll even start off with a memory made today. Yes, you get the freshest memories on this holiday. You're welcome.

FRESH MEMORY

While grading at Starbucks, I was chit-chatting with my friend Andy. An exam response triggered one of my favorite rants; it goes, "Rhetoric is the third oldest profession! Only farming and prostitution precede it in the annals of history!"

Andy didn't realize I only stopped to take a deep breath, because he responded. "I don't know that it was a recognized profession back then, Christina."

Confusion. "Wait, what wasn't recognized as a profession? Farming?"

And then people laughed at me. I did, too, once I remembered not everyone loves rhetoric and ancient Greeks the way I do.

Now it's your turn! Tell me a fun memory in the comments. Pretty please?

STUFF (And Christmas)

2009-12-10T14:34:00.006-05:00

I like stuff.

(One stuff I like is a soy, no-whip peppermint mocha.)

Having things makes me feel safe. I haven't always felt that way, though. Growing up, I was in a kind-of big family in kind-of small house occupied by a herd of kind-of pack rats. I swore that when I was on my own, I'd have a bed, a dresser with my clothes, and maybe a single book.

That was it.

Anyone who has ever hung out in my apartment or ridden in my car knows I failed to keep that solemn childhood vow.

So moving is difficult, because it means choosing what is worth keeping and what needs to be tossed. And the time frame that I gave myself (uh, super-super short) necessitates quick decisions. I barely have time to say goodbye to everyone I love, so you can bet I don't have time to sell things on Craigslist. What does this mean? It means I've giving almost everything away.

I'm giving away books. I'm giving away teaching jobs. I'm giving away clothes, and vases, and miscellaneous canned food (tangent: why did I buy canned asparagus?).

In a seems-more-than-coincidental twist, giving away Things I Want To Keep is freeing me. And more than any pine scent, peppermint mocha, mall Santa's Shop or holiday melody, this process of giving important stuff has excited me for Christmas.

I didn't expect to find joy here. So while I still like my stuff, I'm thankful to let it go.

Where are you unexpectedly discovering bits of holiday spirit?

My Heart Cracked Open And Pride Gushed Out

2009-12-09T13:15:00.004-05:00

I am so proud of my students.

Today was my last day teaching one of my classes, and they gave impromptu speeches on topics I selected. Because I like to be entertained, the topics ranged from "Camels Make the Best Transportation" to "Why Gravity Is My Favorite Physical Law."

They did amazingly well. They also supported one another, cheered for success, and reflected upon their semester in ways that made my heart swell. While eating donuts they'd brought to celebrate, they cracked jokes and shared stories and admitted they were going to miss the class.

Aww.

One international student thanked me, and handed me a gift. When I opened it later (at his request), I found a note that threatened the safety of my mascara.

Why do they do this? Don't they know how much of a teacher's heart gets invested in these classes? It's so hard to say goodbye already... why must they be nice, too?

I've watched them transform over the course of the semester from scared freshmen to confident young men and women who have built new friendships, survived college exams and heartbreaks, and conquered some of their biggest fears. They gave speeches about their favorite household appliances... and about human trafficking. They studied together for exams, opened their lives wide to include new people, and changed their minds and majors.

It is a hard thing sometimes to be a professor. You meet amazing young people on the cusp of adulthood and mentor them. You watch with pride for a season as they try to navigate life, often succeeding in ways they hadn't imagined.

And then you bid them farewell.

I'm so proud. Goodbye.

5 Songs For Instant Energy

2009-12-08T11:24:00.007-05:00

With all the cleaning and packing and goodbyes lately, I've needed music playing constantly. If you're anything like me, the right music can get you moving and energized.

Unfortunately for me, the wrong music can have me watery-eyed and wandering aimlessly around my apartment, a box of Kleenex under one arm and the other shoveling food in my mouth.

Even if you aren't moving, the holidays can be stressful. The end of the school term can be stressful. Hey, LIFE is stressful. So today I thought I'd share with you five songs that give me that extra push into positivity.

Not a Springsteen fan as a general rule, but I love this song.

"I don't think they can handle this!" Oh, but I can.

Is this a surprise?

I've never understood the "shaggy dress," but other than that... it's superb.

Just makes me feel wonderful.

Tell me in the comments: what songs make your day better?

Going Is Easy

2009-12-07T13:47:00.004-05:00

Moving.

Ugh.

I pack. I throw away. I give away. I sell. I pack some more. I use some Kleenex. I run out of the house because I want to feel normal for a few moments, as if the life I've led for eight years isn't ending.

Then I come back... and pack. And find old cards and old memories. Laugh at old pictures. Grimace at old hairstyles. Find comfort in old friendships that have already weathered a few storms.

I sit, wrapped in a blanket. On the floor, because I rarely sit on furniture if I can help it. Disconcerted by empty shelves and boxes that don't belong here. Writing cover letters that convey how amazingly awesome I am only in a way that is modest and professional.

I don't remember the man's name, but I remember what he said: "Going is easy. Leaving is painful."

I think he was right.

Three Pretty Things : 12/6

2009-12-06T18:53:00.005-05:00

You may have noticed that I took yesterday (and a big chunk of today) off from posting. Sorry for the unannounced departure, my friends, I just needed time off from *everything.* It was good to go read books, take a drive with a friend, drink coffee slowly while sitting and talking. Enjoying moments instead of speeding through them.

If you thought your world might end without me (come on, you know the thought crossed your mind), consider following me on Twitter. If you're not already, you missed the Christmas tree in a typewriter picture and are bound to lose out on other great moments, too.

But for now, let's see Three Pretty Things.

Mexican food with friends. Blurry and poorly lit... but our friendship shines gloriously anyway (why, yes, Hallmark, I would be interested in writing for you).

Christmas!

Yes, I'm a lazy photographer who can't focus her iPhone... but my friend gave me a golden Cinderella carriage ornament because I said I admired it. Next time she says she likes my hair I'll have to shave it off and put it in a box for her, because that is the type of deep friendship we share (That sounds much more sarcastic than I mean it, but I don't know how else to state it so it's staying unedited).

What made this week pretty for you?

Reflections? Trust Me, I Have Some

2009-12-04T14:07:00.005-05:00

December has always been a time of reflection for me. I like to look over the year and see how far I've (hopefully!) come.

But right now, I'm grading. I've been doing it for like four hours straight, and have at least that much more to do today (and I STILL won't be done!). So today's December reflection will default to a familiar theme: I am too pretty for this!

Christina's List of Things That She is Far Too Pretty For

I am too pretty to spend to be grading exams that include answers made up of random words strung together -- they are not even sentence fragments!
I am too pretty for my efforts at surprising my best friend with a redecorated office to go unappreciated (I moved her desk into the middle of her office when she stepped out for 35 seconds... it was amazing, but amazingly enough she was not impressed. How rude!).
I am too pretty to pack my apartment... aren't there fairies who are supposed to take care of that?
I am too pretty to break my friend's phone. Oh no wait, I'm not. Sorry.
I am too pretty to keep forgetting to eat. Because seriously, skeleton Christina is not pretty and it would be a shame to morph into her just because life is busy and stressful right now.

Okay, that got some of the whine out of my soul. But I reserve the right to add to the list later.

What about you? What are you dealing with today that you are FAR TOO PRETTY for?

If catharsis doesn't work, refer back to the Too Pretty Strategies for Losing the Funk (still giggling over that!).

How To Lose The Funk

2009-12-03T10:33:00.008-05:00

Two days ago, you shared some of your ideas about how to beat the blues. Lose the funk. Just plain old feel better.

Yesterday, I needed all of those suggestions. So in one marathon session, I did every single thing you told me to (kind of). Here's what happened.

Thank you for your help!

I'm Stuck On Hump Day

2009-12-02T17:26:00.004-05:00

Hump Day?

It must be, because in trying to overcome it I got stuck. I'm sprawled on the hump with no idea how I'm going to find enough energy or momentum to make my way over it.

I have been productive. I remembered to eat. I drank some coffee (okay, a lot of coffee).

It's not the externals that are hindering me. It's all the hang-ups inside of me, all the exhaustion and frustration about life and lack of chocolate in my apartment and oh my gosh I just want to eat carbs all day in my pajamas and watch TV and WHY do I not own a television set?!

I'm working on finding some balance. Part of that is planning the next few weeks in a way that is soothing because I know I can make it all work. Part of that is accepting that I will, in fact, flip out a few times before it works out but it's okay because flipping out is part of the human experience.

It's also part of the mysterious aura of a woman ("Mysterious," because you literally have no idea what version of my personality is going to do something unexplainable next. Whatever.).

Right now at this very moment, I'm just going to sit and type quietly at this little coffee shop. Watch through the window as the rain hits the brick sidewalk. Talk to my friend who kindly met me here to compile lists and spend time before I leave. Breathe deeply.

And then I'll go home for more dinosaur time.

The Misunderstood T-Rex

2009-12-01T12:21:00.009-05:00

Today I am miserable.

And I wish I could watch, because when I'm miserable, I should be selling tickets. It's quite the performance.

I flop onto couches like fainting Victorian women in too-tight corsets. I sigh significantly as I gaze out of windows or just away from my audience. I wrap myself in blankets and mournfully huddle in a corner, as if to protect myself from the bitter cold of my [heated] apartment.

One of the most anticipated and rarely-seen acts of my repertoire is the T-Rex stomp (I'm serious, people have begged to see this). Bundled in my Cranky Blanket and tucking it firmly beneath my elbows, I stomp angrily around the house. My forearms have limited motion, thanks to the elbow situation, so I gesture awkwardly as I growl out my frustration and slam things around.

I really get into character for this one. I enjoy seeing myself as powerful yet misunderstood tyrannosaurus.

A rare T-Rex sighting!

What's funny is that by indulging in this kind of melodrama, I begin to feel better. There's something about the ridiculousness of fake faints and dinosaur stomps that tends to put things in perspective and help me laugh.

What do you do to get out of a funk?

I Don't Participate In Cyber Mondays

2009-11-30T13:08:00.004-05:00

Cyber Monday makes me laugh.

Why? Because I have a sense of humor more similar to that of my 14-year-old brother than what one would expect of a college professor.

The phrase "Cyber Monday" is funny to me for several reasons. First, "cyber" is such a dated term. It makes me think of the late 90s, when everything was e-this or e-that. Hearing the word makes me want to break out Backstreet Boys music.

The datedness factor leads me to the second reason "cyber" makes me giggle. As you may or may not know, textbooks are not written by the audience to whom they are addressed. No, they are generally penned by old academics who are trying desperately to make their content seem relevant. Which is awesome... most of the time.

This time it's just awesomely funny.

One of the textbooks I use explains to students that sometimes, when grown-ups love each other very much and are very far away from one another, they use the internet to "cyber." Yep, that's the word they chose. So when I see that Twitter is alive with Cyber Monday references, I can't help but imagine an online orgy.

Thanks, old academic textbook-writers. You gave me a priceless image that simultaneously makes me shudder and laugh.

Three Pretty Things : 11/29

2009-11-29T13:24:00.005-05:00

How was your Thanksgiving weekend? I hope it was filled with happiness and memory-making, as mine was.

The entire week leading up to the holiday was one for which I am thankful. So many pretty things... but here are three that made me stop and smile.
It's a family joke that we're related to Sherlock Holmes (we aren't, because he is pretend). Seeing this display at Barnes and Noble made me giggle and made other shoppers step away from me.

My friend Ashley and I wrote a letter to Santa. As she put it in the box, I saw the Believe Meter's hand move to the right!

Okay. I moved it myself. Whatever.

This is a tree from which birds tend to poop on cars, so I try not to park near it. But without leaves (and without birds), it's really rather beautiful.

Tell me in the comments: what made your life pretty this week?

The Glamorous Life?

2009-11-28T13:30:00.007-05:00

This past Monday I told you I was going to work on adding some glamor to my life.

It wasn't as if I planned on transforming into Marilyn Monroe (because there was this one time I just tried to imitate her and instead of looking gorgeous while holding down a billowing skirt, I looked like I was touching myself in public... not okay). I was actually just trying to prevent myself from turning into Liz Lemon.

I documented the week in pictures, so let's take a look together, shall we?
You can't see it, but I'm also wearing grey skinny jeans and knee-high black leather boots. Does that aid the glamor factor or make it a hooker-worthy ensemble?

The Glamorous: outfit looked pulled-together (and I was later validated by seeing a similar outfit worn by Maegan of LoveMaegan.com).

The Not-so-glamorous: having friends flip through iPhone pictures and demand to know why you're taking pictures of yourself in a Starbucks bathroom.

The point was to showcase the bright red lips I sported all day. Instead, you can see I was pre-gaming Thanksgiving dinner with lots of pasta, cookies, and snacks. And that I would never make it as a model with those weird faces I make.

Ahh, Thanksgiving. I thought plaid seemed "American" enough to wear to celebrate. It seems that I also wore food on my shirt to celebrate (some sweet potato casserole leaked on me during transport).

This is definitely not glamorous.

Yeah, even the second picture of me is all like, "Are you serious, Picture One?"

Last day (today), and looking down at this snap made me feel like I didn't accomplished my goal. What I did accomplish was 1) putting more effort into my appearance, 2) trying a few things I wouldn't normally (was surprised to like the red lips), and 3) thought about some of the glamorous people I know.

My friend Meng, for example. She is gorgeous enough to be a movie star, it's true, but what draws people to her is a sense of humor, desire to have fun and be silly, and to always make other people feel important.

As I thought about Meng, I said to myself, "I could work on those things... heck, I already have the humor. Maybe I should just work on becoming a better person."

Even though that seemed like a Liz Lemon thing to think, I was okay with it. Maybe being like her isn't really all that bad.

And then I accidentally took this picture.
No more better person crap. I'm on my way to glamorous!

45 Things That Don't Make Me Gnash My Teeth

2009-11-27T12:24:00.005-05:00

Yesterday I suggested you take a look at Havi's list of 77 Things That Don't Completely Suck. Today I'm doing my own version, because while it's hard to be actually thankful without pumpkin pie, I can admit there are a few things in life that aren't causing much gnashing of teeth.

Havi poured some lentils into a bowl and they added up to 77. I poured out my bottle of Aleve, and there were 45 pills. So welcome to my list of 45 Things That Don't Make Me Gnash My Teeth.

I'm drinking a soy peppermint mocha.
I think I'm recovering from the week-long Festival of Food... my belly is no longer faking a pregnancy.
The Nutella cream pie I made yesterday went over well.
The turkey I helped my friend Laura cook turned out really well. Minor miracle, since neither of us really had any idea what we were doing. We wore gloves and disinfected with Clorox wipes all day.
I watched TV yesterday for the first time in forever... oh my gosh I love commercials and Myth Busters.
When I tell people I'm moving, they're all sad and teary and asking when I'm coming back to visit (unless they're west coast friends... those ones cheer and demand we start scheduling the next six months of fun-ness).
The idea of moving has made me start appreciating some aspects of this town I took for granted.
Like traffic that doesn't suck all the time.
Like warm weather in November (high 70s? yes, please).
Like being able to drive no more than 15 minutes if I want to see friends.
Like getting coffee with former professors so I can retain some of my academic brain cells.
I have fantastic glasses.
My hair is really amazing, too. Because I'm being honest here.
People like Laura make me happy because when I went over to her house to help her cook a turkey, she met me at the door with a horrified look on her face and told me that turkeys were gross and I'd be the one handling the corpse and taking out the innards but she had gloves for me to wear. And she took pictures.
She also gave me toothpicks so I could stab the neck flaps of the turkey together. That was nice.
Laura is also the kind of person you can call when you're sad. She will tell you nice things or feed you.
Amy is another good friend, and she will tell you nice things but not always in the gushiest and nicest way... so you know you can trust what she says.
I also got a great text message last night wishing me a happy Thanksgiving while simultaneously calling me a hooker. That made me smile.
Trevor promises to wear a light-up Christmas sweater in public. Do I have to explain why that is wonderful?
Ashley promised me that I will always have a job as a carnie if I need one. She also is teaching me the proper vocabulary for that profession.
I still have a lot of cookies in my kitchen.
There are people who understand my sense of humor (that is far from being everyone).
I've just been informed that understanding my sense of humor takes some practice... so that means that for the people who do get me, they're willing to put in the effort. That's kind of awesome. It's probably because of my hair.
I have small ears. I'm really glad about that.
I won the first round of Pit the other night. I hate that game, I didn't want to play that game, so victory was twice as sweet.
There is a sequel to "The Hunger Games" that I didn't know about until recently. I'm going to read it on the flight to Washington.
Tonight is Milkshake Night.
I assign homework. While grading isn't fun, it's more fun to be the teacher who evilly gives out projects before the holidays than the students who have to do them. Bwahaha.
It's nice that I haven't had to birth a child. Teleporting them out of womb: that is the way of the future.
I am wearing "nice clothes" from the waist up, and pajamas from the waist down. This is kind of my uniform unless I'm in a classroom.
Puppy play-time yesterday was fun.
On Sunday, I discovered I'd lost some weight... making me the lightest I've been in about a year, and thinner than is a good idea. This doesn't make me gnash my teeth because it happened right before the Thanksgiving Stuff-a-thon, so now it's like I'm normal even though I ate enough for a small country.
The Book of Revelation fell out of my Bible. I've never really understood or liked it, so now I don't have to worry about it anymore.
I have a dishwasher.
Oooh, project that I'm completely excited about! Wish it had been my idea, but thrilled that someone thought I'd be a good addition to the Top Secret Team of Awesomeness.
The heat came on just now, which is utterly fantastic because I was thinking about how I was probably going to curl up and fall asleep and die of hypothermia. That is what made more sense than me putting on more clothes or turning up the thermostat.
Shoes.
The painting I have of my Grandpa Jack dancing with my two-year-old self at a wedding.
Hearing from readers, friends, or stalkers (or all of the above) that something rotten was going on, and out of the angry soul bubbled up the words, "I am too pretty for this!" Good to know I helped out.
Blackened chicken pasta. Yum.
Equally good in an entirely different way: weird dream-inducing kosher dogs at The Weenie Stand.
Blog comments (especially ones like what Sara wrote on yesterday's post). If you write, you know what I mean.
Sleeping in on Black Friday. I don't need anything that much.
No "work" this week. Again, a benefit of teaching.
I have a smartphone that is smarter than me (one day, when it starts mocking me, I will be sorry I ever bought it).

Are there other things that might qualify as gnashing-less? Sure. I'll probably think of them later, and I'll probably wonder why in the world I included my ears on this list. But that's okay, because it isn't definitive, this isn't Thanksgiving, and it's all true right now.

What about you? Anything that doesn't completely suck or definitely doesn't make you gnash your teeth?

Thanksgivingly Making Messes

2009-11-26T14:00:00.006-05:00

If you live outside the United States (or inside them and in a cave somewhere), you might not know it's Thanksgiving.

That wouldn't be a problem if you were in the kitchen with me now, because you'd smell the turkey in the oven (I've never cooked a turkey before!), see the sweet potatoes cooking on the stovetop, and could peek into the fridge to check out a Nutella cream pie setting. And I'd probably slap you upside the head if you asked why there was so much food and then exclaim, "It's Thanksgiving! Be thankful for something while you help me clean up the mess I made in here."

So I'm busy making messes and food today, but I'll be back here tomorrow if I've woken from my food coma. Meanwhile, I think you should check out Havi's list of 77 Things That Don't Completely Suck... I might follow her lead tomorrow instead of punching elderly ladies in the face for a Black Friday discount on the last pair of socks.

Happy Thanksgiving.

We Can Buy All Sorts Of Potatoes!

2009-11-25T15:59:00.004-05:00

I am posting super late today for many reasons. I am so thankful for all of them, but here are two.

I am thankful for the high price of airfare, the long lines for security at the airport, and even the luggage that occasionally gets lost en route. The "inconveniences" we experience in traveling allow us to see people who live all over the country and world more than once or twice in our lives.

This week, all the combined problems of airports and airplanes brought me three days with two of my favorite people, Ashley and John. They recently moved from Virginia to California, but came back thousands of miles for a visit. This allowed Ashley and I to engage in our favorite holiday tradition: writing to Santa.
I'm also thankful for huge corporations like Wal-Mart. I am thankful for the miles of crowded parking, the packed stores with tired faces, and the cheap wares they lure me into buying.

When I stopped there today for last-minute ingredients for tomorrow's Thanksgiving feast, I saw families carefully checking their shopping lists and counting out their dimes and quarters at the cash register.

Because of places like Wal-Mart, families who are struggling to pay their bills will still be able to celebrate the things they do have with a traditional meal. And what's even better? Because of all those "cheap wares," we can celebrate with whatever tradition we grew up with because we have choices. So while my friends grew up eating mashed potatoes (they're buying russet), I grew up eating roasted potatoes... so I'm buying red baby potatoes. That's kind of amazing if you think about it.

I sound cheesy. Okay, fine. But cheesy or not, I'm taking time this holiday to see which of my "problems" might actually be symptoms of blessing and bounty.

I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving if you celebrate, and a great Thursday if you don't.

How You Know You've Made It As A Blogger

2009-11-24T09:57:00.006-05:00

I've made it as a blogger.

I didn't know if this would ever happen... I mean, lightning rarely strikes twice, and I had my first bit of electrocution as a celebrity gossip blogger. So I'm just flattered and trying to prepare myself for the fame that's sure to be around the corner.

How do I know I've "made it" as a blogger, you ask? Well, it's when you start having people come to you for things. With the celebrity gossip thing, I had publicists contacting me out of the blue to promote their shows, artists, whatever. And while mostly that just meant I got a lot of press releases from Animal Planet, National Geographic, and Playboy, it was something.

And you'd be surprised how much a site's Google rankings improve when you include keywords like "nude," "Victoria's Secret models," and "Playboy." Especially when they're all in one sentence like that.

So this past week, when I was told by blogger Feelmore that she was naming me as a recipient to the award below (I didn't forget!), I was honored.

But I guess it brought my blog to the attention of some of her important friends, because NoNine Recordings emailed me soon after and gave me a song from their new artist, David Minor.

So obviously, I've made it.

I've also disclosed that I got a freebie, so now everyone (*cough* government regulators *cough*) can be happy.

So thank you all for making this happen. I'm tearing up a little when I think of all my fans and my supporters, and the long hard hours I've put into this blog for 2.5 whole months. Oh, gosh, I don't want to forget my friends, my family, my dog... everyone who has made this journey with me.

This also means I may need to stop associating with some of you non-freebie-receivers. Sorry, but now that I'm in demand I really have to focus on my work and perfecting my craft and dodging the photogs.

(Or you can just enjoy the free song by David Minor, too, thanks to the generous people at NoNine Recordings. That would actually fix everything.)

I Am Not Liz Lemon

2009-11-23T14:29:00.005-05:00

A few nights ago, I sat on my couch watching "30 Rock" on Hulu. I was eating Nutella from the jar, having already downed take-out teriyaki and my daily serving of fruit (V8 juice).

And that's when it hit me.

"Amy, I am eating Nutella from the jar while watching television. I'm one stick of fried cheese away from becoming Liz Lemon!"

I got a text back: "No. If you were Liz Lemon, you would've peed in a jar in order to scare off a roommate. I'm pretty sure you haven't done that."

"Maybe I have..." I mysteriously responded.

"If you had, you would've called me immediately to brag. And that's only if you didn't have your phone within reach to call while you were doing it," Amy texted.

She was right, because I am predictable. I am much like Liz Lemon, minus the crazy antics. That leaves me with glasses and neurosis.

Let me clarify: I am not opposed to comparisons to Tina Fey. She has been called the pin-up girl for smart men, and I am okay with getting lumped into that category. But Liz Lemon is the smart, hard-working, slightly frumpy gal who takes everyone's crap and sits at home eating in her free time -- not my life's dream. So I started wondering... what is the antithesis of Liz Lemon?

My conclusion: anyone with an ounce of glamor. So this week, I won't give you the play by play, but I'm working on incorporating everyday glamor. Research (read: "Google searches") shows that there are diverse opinions about what constitutes this state. Red nail polish? Platinum hair? Expensive belongings? Or is it more of a way of being...?

These are the things I'm working on figuring out. And while most people work their entire lives or careers to achieve something like glamor, I'm aiming to have it done by Saturday.

I'll let you know how that goes.

In the meantime, help me out: what do you think makes someone glamorous? I'd appreciate the shortcuts, since I only have six days to get this right.

Three Pretty Things : 11/22

2009-11-22T13:30:00.005-05:00

My week has had so many lovely moments. It was difficult to choose just three to share with you.

Some things that didn't make it -- not because they weren't great, but more because they didn't photograph well -- were excited text messages from friends who are arriving from California tomorrow (!!), good conversations with great people, cooking breakfast for friends, and an hour of flying with my two favorite pilots.

And I know this week promises more of the same kind of happiness.

For now, though, I'll show you Three Pretty Things from the last seven days.
I'm amazed how a tree, reduced nearly to the appearance of dead wood, can still be so beautiful.

The shape and color of these leaves are delicate and perfect. When I cross them on the brick sidewalk I feel like a bride, before whom the lemony petals have been strewn... that in some way, the ground has been made more beautiful in preparation for my feet.

If you didn't know: I love cemeteries, and this is one of my favorites. I went for a long afternoon drive last week, and stopped here to enjoy the aura of peace in the church graveyard. I left when someone apparently called the church's security team and they came out to give me dirty looks for quietly wandering their open, unlocked cemetery.

Tell me about the highlights of your week. What has made it pretty?

Dear Virginia Driver...

2009-11-21T14:31:00.004-05:00

Dear Virginia Driver,

How are you doing? I'm sure your day is going well, because you managed to get yourself out of a tight spot. I mean that literally -- the parking spot you chose was just a little squished for your car and your abilities. I know, because in your efforts, you managed to leave a dent and streaks of paint along my back bumper.

What you didn't leave, however, is a note.

I know, I know, times are rough with this economy and all. I'm sure you didn't work my car repairs into your budget. I've bumped into a few vehicles in my day, so I know the way your stomach churns at the thought.

But I left a note.

I left a note when I was making minimum wage working retail over summer breaks. I left a note when I was certain the dent could just be hammered out and the paint chips buffed off. I left a note because I am not a bitch, and think other people might be attached to their belongings and have a reasonable expectation that cars won't be banged up after a 15 minute stop at the grocery store.

So Virginia Driver, whoever you are, I want to thank you for giving me another reason to be happy I'm leaving this town. Thank you for reminding me that I behave better than you, I'm probably prettier than you, and am a whole lot less rotten on the inside than you.

Sincerely,
Christina

As You Wish

2009-11-20T14:46:00.003-05:00

Today has been a productive day so far (it's not quite 3 p.m.), but one of those productive days where you still don't feel like anything got done.

Ever have one of those?

I taught class, sat in on another one, got some feedback from a teaching observation, learned how to mask my site (meaning you can type in "TooPrettyForThis.com" and the URL won't change anymore), graded a stack of speech evaluation sheets, fell asleep at my keyboard...

Yes, I'm bored by my litany of tasks, too.

So for the next few days, I'm going to ask you questions about what you like best about this site. Since I like writing and seeing my words all over the internet no matter the subject, I figured I could maybe give you more of what you already enjoy.

Here's my first question for all of you.

Thanks for answering!

Now tell me in the comments: what about today (Friday at last!) or your weekend plans is getting you excited about life? For me, it's lazer tag tomorrow!

The Position Of Stalker Has Been Filled

2009-11-19T10:45:00.006-05:00

I've had some creepy people pass through my life.

The worst one was probably the guy from my freshman year of college. He sent me cookies, called my dorm room often, and "playfully" told me he was outside my building and staring at my window.

Cute.

He also emailed me a few years later to tell me his wife was divorcing him, and he was single and ready to mingle.

I was so glad when the college finally put password protection on its website and gave us filter options for email accounts.

(I have to keep my big, strong brother around to protect me.)

The last few years have been relatively stalker-free, so I was a little surprised by my encounter yesterday with a grocery store employee.

I pulled my car into a parking space so I could head over to Subway, which was right next store to the supermarket. As I opened my door, a grocery store employee at the cart return called out, "Oh! It's you!"

"Uh, yes," I responded, uncertain how to act in this strange display of customer recognition.

"I haven't seen you in forever! It's so good to see you! How have you been? I didn't know you got a new car!"

How does he know this car is new? Why does he care? This doesn't seem like a customer service strategy, this just seems creeeeeepy.

"Yep. New car. I'm good."

I backed away slowly as I spoke, which apparently is nonverbal for "Come closer! I want to talk to you!" because Cart Guy's face brightened and he started walking in my direction while babbling more excitement over seeing me.

I smiled -- okay, I bared my teeth -- and I threw a "goodbye" over my shoulder as I turned and nearly ran into Subway.

Is it possible that Cart Guy is trying to be friendly? Maybe he doesn't have a Social Cues Reader?

I'm too pretty for this.

Day Seven: First I Must Breathe

2009-11-18T13:25:00.008-05:00

I'm going to get accused of a cop-out. I can feel it.

But if you know me at all, you know this is truly a step toward slight improvement: today, I will make a concerted effort to relax.

For many reasons outside and inside my control, I get stressed out. My eyes glaze over, my neck muscles and veins become unusually defined, and I think I even snarl occasionally. Is any of this helpful? No, of course not. But it's something that just seems to happen, and cheery Care Bear thoughts don't snap me out of it.

So first, I took a few minutes to stretch out on my back and do some deep breathing. This slowed my heart rate (which had been accelerated to stress AND four cups of coffee), helped ease my muscles, and rethink my day.

The second thing I did was head over to Subway to buy a sandwich. Why is this relaxing to me? Because I rarely eat fast food, preferring to eat something healthy and possibly boring at home. But I gave myself permission to eat something easy that I was craving, and now feel soooo much better. Maybe my body needed carbs? Or sliced onions?

The third thing I did to relax was some intrapersonal communication (See, kids? You WILL use some of those terms you learned in speech class!). I had an internal conversation with myself about what was stressing me out today, and how I could make it manageable.

"Christina," I said in my warmest internal voice, "Let's write a list of the things that need to get done, okay?"

"Only if there are checkboxes," I grumped in reply. "I want to make Xs when I'm done with stuff."

"That's a great idea!" my kind, reasonable self enthused. "And if you do one or two of the easier tasks, you're going to feel a sense of accomplishment which might help this stress funk we're in. And remember: you have all day to get this done."

So I'm sitting here at my computer, pecking away and making big black Xs on my checklist. And guess what? Between the extra oxygen in my brain, the onions in my belly, and the joy of listmaking, I am much less stressed.

What do you do to ease stress?

It's the last day of our Week of Slight Improvements! Congratulations to those of you who have stuck it out and those of you who tried. What three things did you work on today? Anything about the week you want to share? Talk to me in the comments!

Day Six: There Are Other People In The World

2009-11-17T10:52:00.008-05:00

Today is Day Six of the Week of Slight Improvements, and I'm really glad we've been doing this.

But one thing that's bothered me is that as I write about my meager efforts, the focus tends to be all on me. And that's not really what I intended.

(Yet I use a picture of myself... interesting how I conflict the messages.)

So today's goal is to push some of that attention to people and organizations I think you should know about.

First, people. I could tell you about some of the famous bloggers I read regularly, but I thought you might want to know some of the lesser-known writers who provide me with feedback and encouragement.

Sarah Spelled With No H -- she's just fantastic. She's honest, funny, and has become a venting buddy.

A Hot Piece of Sass -- might one day rule the world, so be her friend now.

Makeup and Beauty Blog -- Karen has a huge following, but still makes time to chit chat with the people who love her... thus perpetuating a cycle of adoration.

Sid Prince Explains -- he's taking a break for NaNoWriMo, but when it's there the writing is great and the author is quick to engage his readers.

Second, causes. There are a lot of great organizations out there that you should know about -- and I have a special place in my heart for Pantene Beautiful Lengths, Locks of Love, and the Susan G. Komen Foundation. But Skip1.org gives you a super easy way to make a difference every day.

Skip1.org PSA from Skip1 on Vimeo.

Third, I want to highlight someone who's living a great story -- and wants to help other people do the same. Check out Chris Guillebeau (yeah, I don't know how to pronounce his last name, either) and his adventures at The Art of Non-Conformity.

But please, let's not end here! Share in the comments people, organizations, movements, stories, whatever that you think are worth some attention. I want to learn something new, too!

Day Five: Good Riddance

2009-11-16T14:27:00.005-05:00

Today's goal is one that will be hard for me.

I'm getting rid of stuff.

One of the things I'm removing from my life is the stovetop melted mess. Yes, I still have that. No idea why, since all it does is sit on my countertop and remind me of a rice cooking failure.

"Remember that time you failed as a woman?" it whispers tauntingly.

"Yeah," I respond miserably. Well, no more!

The second thing that's exiting my life is a bag of shoes I don't wear. We're talking years since the last wear. It's time for them to leave my closet and find other feet. I'll be donating those somewhere they'll get some love.

The last thing I'll be giving away are some items I know my friends admire. I don't need them, don't use them, and only have them because I like to own things.

Some of you are probably so bored out of your skull by this list. But getting rid of things is really hard for me. I am looking around my apartment -- and it is FULL and it is currently a MESS -- and I see nothing that needs to leave. Despite knowing many, many people live with far less than what I have, I can't imagine not having every.single.thing here.

So... like I said, this is hard for me. But it's a good beginning in terms of purging my belongings, and I can know that doing so might have benefited a few people in tiny ways.

How are the rest of you doing in your week of slight improvements?

Three Pretty Things : 11/15

2009-11-15T13:35:00.006-05:00

Wow, what a week. I know I'm not alone when I say that it seemed like it took forever... and not because I was so busy making great memories.

But the truth is, I DID make some great memories (Friday the 13th party!), I ate some great food (uh, did you see all the chocolate I made?), and I saw some really pretty things. Here are this week's Three Pretty Things.
It looks like either the moon or Epcot, but in reality it's a building on one of the college campuses where I teach.

I love autumn colors, and I also love the organic, lacy web created by those bare tree branches.

The photo seemed to be of better quality when I saw it on my iPhone screen, but seeing the city spangled out in multi-colored crystal lights... I couldn't help but include this picture.

Tomorrow we can go back to talking about slight self-improvements, but today I just want to focus on appreciating a beautiful life (and 76 degree weather).

As you think back over your week, tell me: what made it pretty?

Day Three: And Now I'm Uncomfortable

2009-11-14T16:07:00.003-05:00

Note about my video blogs: I know that these are sometimes hit or miss. Today you'll probably be able to tell how stressed I'm feeling. The reason I post video blogs -- flaws and all -- is to just change things up and to let you see into my life a little more. Many of you are sharing your lives and your stories with me, so I'm trying to do the same.

Keep sharing. Talk to me in the comments.

Day Two: Improved By Chocolate

2009-11-13T13:29:00.008-05:00

Okay, I have to admit that I'm already really glad that so many of you are doing this Slight Improvement Project with me... because today I did NOT feel like it. But knowing that you were working at it -- and would ask about my efforts -- kept me honest.

I woke up in a bad mood. So it kind of made sense that today was the day I'd work on being nice to people. Ugh.

But here's how I'm making it work: I'm feeding people chocolate.

Mmm, brownies...

Yeah, this looks a lot like the brownies, but it's actually a chocolate genoise... and that Nutella will soon be used to make a mousse. Yum!

These cupcakes are coming with me to a meeting I'm attending in a little while... don't really want to go, but thought food would make it better for everyone.

Not only am I fulfilling my obligation to doing something good three times, but I actually am feeling happier and more kindly toward the world.

Sidenote: That last phrase -- "kindly toward the world" -- immediately made me think of a saint in a medieval icon, with soft doe eyes and gentle hands lifted in blessing. That's not quite how I'm acting yet.

Jealous of the chocolate goodies? Want to tell me about your Day 2? Inspired to send me money? I'd like to hear all of that in the comments.

Day One Of Slightly Improved-ness

2009-11-12T14:08:00.006-05:00

Wow, I never expected the kind of feedback I got from yesterday's post. It's awesome that so many of you are going to share this short experiment of self-improvement!

So far, I've written two of the three letters I want to send today. One of them was serious and special, the other was a "hey, let's not lose touch again because we're great people!" kind of email. I know what the third one will be... I'm going to have to break open the notecards and use my very best penmanship. This is kind of fun!

(If I don't stab you in the heart, I might write you a letter with this pen!)

But as I think about the things I want to do later in the week, I feel my inherent laziness kick in.

"Why don't you decide that you will spend extra time on your looks one day?" I suggest to myself.

"You can spend 10 extra minutes on your makeup and hair, do your nails, and buy something new to wear? That's three!"

That sounds like a great idea! Except, wait... I kind of want to do those things anyway. And they are kind of selfish-sounding goals that don't require me to do anything uncomfortable. And I am kind of already good at doing things that aren't uncomfortable.

Hmm.

I'll come up with some semi-virtuous things to do, don't worry. I'll even tell you about them so you know I won't cheat. But for those of you who signed on for the challenge: how is your first day going?

A Week Of Slight Improvements

2009-11-11T13:50:00.007-05:00

A conversation last night with a wonderful friend spawned an idea.

It might make me cranky, but I'm hoping it will make me a slightly better person.

Here's what I plan to do for the next week: every day, I will choose one area of my life that I've been meaning to be better about. And then I will be better, three times in a row.

That doesn't make much sense, so let me give you an example.

Lately, I've been swamped with life (excuse alert!), and felt like I've been on my own little hamster wheel. Yes, those are mice. I don't use Google images, though, so the fact that I had a picture of any rodent on a wheel is kind of amazing so suck it up.

My point is, I've been really bad at keeping in touch with people I care about. Tomorrow, I'll fix that by writing three letters, cards, or emails to people who matter to me. The day after that, I will focus on another area of my life that needs a little attention, and so on and so forth.

Got it?

I'm not writing about my project to brag about little good deeds I should already be doing... it's more to keep myself on track. But I would LOVE it if some of you decided to do it with me. We don't have to choose the same things to work on, just commit to a week of baby-step improvements.

Any takers?

Winners Can't Be Losers

2009-11-10T14:24:00.004-05:00

Today has been a long day. For a lot of reasons. It's only 2:25 p.m. as I type this.

I'm not ready to go into the reasons, if I ever choose to at all. I'll only say right now that I am tired and perplexed.

One bright spot that I can't overlook: Sara Spelled Without An H named this blog a winner.
Wow, one day shy of the two-month mark (happy anniversary to all of you who have been with me for the last 60 days!)! There are stipulations to winning this, however, and they are demand that I...

Make a cocktail. I hope this V8 splendid juice or whatever it's actually called counts.
Pick four bloggers I think give good blog, too. Easy. Amber Is Lazy, A Hot Piece of Sass, Makeup and Beauty Blog, and LeMiffe. Hard part is all the people I didn't get to include.
Tell the bloggers why they win. All of them make me think and laugh, and they go out of their way to connect with readers. Which makes them awesome.

There is no stipulation that demands an acceptance speech, but I prepared one anyway (I've waited my whole life for this kind of opportunity, so give me a break).

Thanks, Sara, for showing love! Thanks, everyone, for showing up! And thanks, coffee, for helping me survive the day.

Grades In The Real World

2009-11-09T13:44:00.004-05:00

Have you ever noticed how what you do 9-5 becomes a part of who you are the other 16 hours of the day?

As a teacher, I've noticed lately I want to grade people. Tell people how to improve their lives. Give constructive criticism (okay, I don't always want to give constructive criticism...).

Honestly, if people are making me angry or irritated just by how they act, I'm probably not the only one getting turned off. I'd be willing to bet money (you know, if I had any) that what bugs me probably bugs potential employers, friends, and lovers.

For example: people who write emails that are about a paragraph long yet only one poorly-constructed sentence. You get a big fat F, but if you re-write that email properly, maybe I'll give you another shot at a better grade.

Why the F? It isn't just because it makes you look illiterate, buddy. It's because you're being disrespectful to someone by not putting the time into properly punctuating. It's because you're wasting time that you don't own when people have to try to decipher what you meant. It's because there are a lot of people out there who know how to communicate clearly, respectfully, and with a strategy... and I'd rather work with them than struggle to work with you.

But not all the grades I'd hand out would be bad. A friend definitely got an A today when she agreed with someone about finding Korean men attractive.

"You know what it is," she confided. "It's because they tan."

A+.

Because there's value in laughter, too.

What are some grades you would hand out?

Three Pretty Things : 11/8

2009-11-08T15:10:00.005-05:00

I can't believe it's already Sunday again! There were a lot of great moments in a week that flew by, but I think what I noticed most were sunsets. Sunrises are now too early for me to care about, but the afternoons provide me with a moment to appreciate lush sky colors.

So here are my Three Pretty Things from the past week.
This moment was courtesy of a movie night with two great friends. Thank you, Zombieland, for making it all possible!

This is a quotation from Victor Frankl's book, "Man's Search for Meaning." Although my own daily struggles are nothing compared to his, I wanted to be able to see his philosophy of survival every morning.
This was on my way to teaching my night class... No more Blue Ridge mountain views to guide me to my destination, but the scenery is still stunning.

What made your week prettier?

Coffee Shop Profiles

2009-11-07T13:21:00.003-05:00

I'm sitting here in a coffee shop, supposedly working on that PhD application I told you about yesterday. But I'm really undercover.

Yes, that's right... I'm secretly observing the people here. I suspect they are much like the typical characters found at other coffee shops around the country -- and maybe the world.

We have the Chit-Chatters on the couch... people who are obviously regulars, here with laptops and books and a friendly greeting for other customers who come for a bit to be alone in a social manner. I know one of them (oh the irony!) and she's a sweet sweet social butterfly. I don't know her friend, but she has nice hair. It figures. Coffee shop girls tend to have nice hair.

Another important character is the Anti-Blonde. Anti-Blonde is sitting at a table across the shop, typing into her black Macbook. The Macbook matches her black hair that is strategically striped with blue. She is probably very smart and has sworn off Starbucks as part of The Establishment... but you know she was a cheerleader in high school and feels intense angst and guilt over it.

Pageboy Pete just walked in. He acquired his nickname through his unfortunate choice in headwear. Oh, Pageboy Pete. Don't you know that hat telegraphs your insecurity to everyone? You aren't hiding it -- your very head broadcasts the truth. Aaaaaaand... now he's pulling out his phone to call someone so he doesn't have to wait for his coffee alone. So sad.

No wait, not sad. He's here with Blonde Bitch. Either he truly is miserable and wants to maintain that lifestyle (hence her presence), or he doesn't know what he's in for. Either way... both the hat and the BB indicate his life is not going well. Oh well. Pageboy Pete and Blonde Bitch left, because they really don't know what to do with themselves in a coffee shop. They just need the cups as fashion accessories.

Ah, and here's another one of our friends... Serious Student. He seriously (how else?) tells the barista that he's applying for doctoral programs in Scotland. Then, in an attempt to sound humble, he admits that one can never know for sure it will work out ("though it really looks like it will!" he adds). Earnestness is the name of the game with Serious Student. Since reading passages from his masters thesis doesn't really work when hitting on women, he relies heavily on the aura of intelligence he tries to create.

Have you seen these people? I think there are probably others I haven't included... they might show up in future installments.

PhD In Procrastinating

2009-11-06T14:09:00.005-05:00

Today is a day of thoughts that don't connect.

Those in academia probably understand -- with the holidays coming up, grades and projects and deadlines are all coming up at once, which can be stressful. Even if there's no stress, there IS busy-ness.

(Where am I looking? Into the future, of course.)

So today, I've been trying really hard to be productive. I told myself I would finish up an application for a doctoral program I reaaaaaaaaally want to be in. Have I finished it? No. But here is what I have done instead:

I told the owner of a fabulous independent coffee shop that I am loyal to Starbucks. Yes, this communications professor knows her audience! Actually, he asked about my coffee habits, and I explained that my connection to the caffeine giant is many-layered: I'm from Seattle, my grandfather was Jewish (as were many of the early investors), and I appreciate the way they have attempted to look out for employers and customers. I then critiqued their current customer strategies and gave a prediction about the future of the company.

I had a conversation with a former co-worker about the phrase "I'm too pretty for this!" She discovered this site, read where the phrase originated, and heard it pop out her mouth while in conversation a few days ago. Yay! (And if you were wondering... yes, she's definitely too pretty for whatever it was)

My best friend refused (for like the millionth time) to marry the man I've selected for her. And I argued with her, because he's absolutely perfect for this wonderful woman. She insists he looks gourd-like, but I don't think she has any room to quibble over things like that, since she continues to confess love for that collection of wrinkles, Bob Dylan.

I described my love for the program I want to get into in gorgeous metaphor:

"seriously... this school

is like a mink coat for my mind

just unbelievably stunning and perfect

i want to roll around in it and stretch out luxuriously and then flaunt it once i know it's mine

i'm not sure if that makes sense..."
My friend suggested I make that the first paragraph of my admissions essay. Who knows? I might.

So there you have it... what I have and haven't done today. I have a brain that works and is creative but currently refuses any of my suggestions about what it should try doing.

What Daydreams Revealed

2009-11-05T13:53:00.009-05:00

Sometimes while I teach, I wonder what is going on in my students' heads. There are definitely times when I can tell whatever they're thinking about, it isn't the HURIER model of listening or how nonverbal communication works.

Glazed-over eyes communicate volumes, I say significantly to a sea of glazed-over eyes. No flicker of recognition. Awesome, I'm talking to myself again.

I arrived early to one of my classes today, and as I looked at all the empty desks, I realized I was being given a window into what students daydream about while in class.

What a discovery! If I'm armed with this kind of knowledge, I'll be able to integrate some of those daydream topics into my lectures and keep my classes constantly engaged! They will learn and succeed and one day make a movie about me, the teacher who transformed their lives!

I started tearing up as I made my way to the scribbled desk tops.

Here is what I learned:
Some students dream of growing up to be... Rosie, the robot maid from "The Jetsons."

They are also afraid of satellites and television sets that develop the ability to walk.

Most importantly, however, my students are dreaming of Kenmore appliances.

I don't think any of this is going to help me at all. Unless... I let my students put foil on their heads to protect them from alien attempts to control their minds.

Hmmm. That might work.

The Prank's On You, "Anonymous" Caller

2009-11-04T12:44:00.004-05:00

My mother is absolutely horrified that I posted this. My brother is not. Mom threatened to blackmail me, and tried to guilt me into not sharing it.

My guilt sensor must be broken (years of overuse?).

But out of consideration for her, I will pass on her defense: she says she didn't encourage my brother to leave the message, only overheard him and laughed as she walked by.

Believe what you want.

The Last Straw

2009-11-03T14:22:00.011-05:00

Today, we built bridges. Out of straws. In speech class.

Yes, I'm serious, and no, I haven't lost it. But I'm sure my students thought so for awhile, since I didn't explain until later why we were doing arts and crafts fit for first graders.

To test the bridges, we started out by piling on a small bag of Jolly Ranchers. No problem.
You can see, that was a piece of cake for both of the straw bridges.
So we had to upgrade to textbooks, but even then the straw bridges held up.
Finally, we piled everything that wasn't breakable on those bridges, hoping to have a winning design emerge. This picture makes it clear that it didn't happen -- both designs were strong enough to take whatever we threw at them.

The lesson was designed to demonstrate the principles of group work and leadership... and it worked. But what stood out to me was how these cheap straws, plastic cups, and dollar store tape held together under so much weight.

They aren't high-quality products. They're not strong at all -- the straws are even the ones with the bendy tops. None of these things were designed for building miniature bridges. Yet under all that unexpected pressure, weight, burden... they managed to do the job just fine.

I Don't Swagger

2009-11-02T13:06:00.007-05:00

What stories define you?

I had a discussion last night with a former professor, and one of the things we talked about is how we shape our lives through story. If you've read the explanation of this website, you know that one of my defining stories is Too Pretty For This... but today I thought I'd share another.
I play putt-putt like I play baseball... and that is why the picture is relevant to this post.

I played in Little League growing up. Once I learned how, I loved softball and was actually pretty good. But one thing used to bother me -- if it was raining during a game, my mom sat in the car in the parking lot. The other moms huddled under umbrellas or hooded jackets and watched from the bleachers.

I asked my mom why she didn't want to watch me play, and she responded she did -- from the car. "You can't tell when I'm pitching or I'm to bat from there," I said. "You can't even see the number on my shirt."

"Sweetie, I don't need to see the number. I always know when you're playing and where. You walk differently than the other girls."

"Walk differently? How?" I tried to figure out if I had a lurching walk or some other quirk that made me monster-like.

"Well..." my mother hemmed, "If you were a boy, we'd call it a swagger."

"I walk like a BOY?" It was worse than I thought. I wasn't a monster -- I was a cootie-ridden boy.

"No, no, honey. If you were a boy, we'd call it a swagger, but you're a girl. So we call it a... sway."

"I don't swagger, I sway," I repeated.

For some reason this phrase has stuck with me. I've even been known in tired or silly moments to make people watch me walk -- yelling back to onlookers, "I don't swagger, I swaaaaaaay!"

Maybe I've made this story a part of who I am because it symbolizes a moment of reframing... where I could've been told or seen myself as a female failure. Instead, the situation was stated differently, and I was cast as a strong, feminine individual who stood out even in the rain and at a distance.

So tell me: what stories have shaped you? Share in the comments, or post on your own blog and let me know! I'm excited to hear from you.

Three Pretty Things : 11/1

2009-11-01T13:17:00.007-05:00

I have a confession.

Only one of these things is pretty in the traditional sense. The other two just delight me. I thought maybe I could get away with it for two reasons: first, because usually beauty causes delight... so I'd be accomplishing the same goal by a different route. The second reason I thought I could get away with it was because... well, let's face it. This is my site.

So here are Three (Kind Of) Pretty Things.

Still taken aback by the beauty of some of these college campuses. It's like I'm walking on a movie set, because it really is that perfect of an environment.

So this was when I was trying to snap a shot of my costume to TwitPic last night... didn't realize till later I appear to be giving myself the finger. I'm five years old, yes, and that makes me snicker.

This one is delightful, too, because not only is that expression priceless, but I can finally see a concrete benefit to all those years of art lessons and my degree in graphic design. A fake mermaid tattoo. Yay!

BONUS Pretty Thing! Sure, call me a liar, but I figured any of you who are students or are visiting family/friends/vacation spots for the holidays might be able to relate to the beauty of this text message.

What made your week prettier? Tell me in the comments!

Halloween Halloween

2009-10-31T14:37:00.003-04:00

Happy Halloween!

Last night I carved pumpkins with friends and created this lovely lady.
Any ideas what I should call her?

I've graded a few papers today, but have spent a good chunk of my time helping prepare for a charity Halloween party tonight, where I'll be volunteering. I still get to dress up though -- yay! -- and I'm aiming for 60s bouffant hair and winged eyes. Somehow I must incorporate a bright orange staff shirt... I'll probably send out a Twitpic, so if you haven't joined me on Twitter yet, do it now!

What are your plans for tonight? I'd love to hear about your costumes and plans in the comments!

Stay safe tonight!

Friday Firsts

2009-10-30T12:57:00.006-04:00

Hey, look at this! It's a video blog!

It's weird hearing my own voice and watching myself speak. I sound a lot tougher in my head than the priss in the video.

Too Pretty readers, please head over to Makeup and Beauty Blog if you haven't already done so, and take a look around. Yes, because I'm there, but also because Karen's a fantastic blogger you should get to know.

For those of you who are new to TooPrettyForThis.com, here are those links I promised you!

Too Pretty Stories

Background: Why I Donated My Hair

Hope all of you are having a great Friday! Can't wait to hear about everyone's Halloween!

3 Things You Can Do Today To Communicate Better

2009-10-29T12:35:00.014-04:00

Yesterday's post sparked some good conversation in the comments section (check it out here), but I realized that just saying communication is something worth improving isn't the same as doing it.

(photo taken by Rick O'Neil)

Since I work in the field, I thought I might be able to help. I've written ad copy, radio scripts, fundraising letters... built and maintained donor relationships... edited and written for websites of every stripe... and currently teach public speaking and interpersonal communication at the university level. So while I don't pretend to know everything, I do know a few things.

If -- like me -- you're always looking for ways to learn and grow, here are three things you can start doing right now to be a better communicator.

1. Listen. Maybe it seems counterintuitive, but effective communication can only occur when all the participants feel heard. Many arguments aren't based on real disagreement -- they're based on misperceptions about what you think someone else meant (and didn't mean at all). If you take the time to listen -- without multitasking and trying to decide what you'll say when it's your turn -- you're going to be a better communicator.

2. Ask questions. You have to actually do Step 1 before you can do this one, because otherwise you won't have any material to ask about (I'm so tricky). But once you start listening and wanting to understand someone else, you're going to demonstrate interest by asking follow-up questions. You know you love it when people want to know more about your kids, your painting, your (fill in the passion blank)... so why not be the person you love talking to?

3. Be mindful. The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines "mindfulness" two ways: "bearing in mind" and "to be aware." When you're in conversation, other people won't say everything they mean. But if you "bear in mind" and work "to be aware," you might catch the slight pause or wet eyelashes that indicate a deeper meaning to the words he or she is saying. Those tiny elements can radically change the meaning -- and the direction -- of the conversation.

"Hey!" you might be saying. "You gave me three tips to communicate better, but none of them involve ME saying a word!"

Yep. That's right.

Should We All Be Good At Something?

2009-10-28T13:46:00.008-04:00

Lately, it seems like I've read a lot of articles with a similar theme: don't focus on making your weaknesses better! make your strengths stronger!

But I disagree... Kind of.

The idea is that if there are two things you do, one of them is going to be a pathetic 2 on a scale of 1 to 10, and the other is a very respectable 7. These are where you rank naturally, with no training or practice or whatever. Experts and others with opinions have said that it's a better idea to put effort into improving the strength and not the weakness. If you put two hours a day into the strength, you might increase ability to a rank of 9 or even 10. Good job! But those same two hours, invested in your weaker area, might only produce a 4 or a 5, which is pretty mediocre considering how much time you've spent working toward improvement.

So basically, you could go from a talented coffee shop guitarist to a full-time pro... or you could go from a terrible baker to one who manages to follow a Tollhouse cookie recipe correctly (most of the time).

I understand what everyone's getting at -- do what you're good at and become even better. That makes sense most of the time.

But there are some areas in which you may not be naturally gifted, but should still focus energy into improving -- and I think communication is one such area.

If you can't communicate about your gifts and talents in other things -- or even create the opportunity to showcase them -- what good are those gifts and talents? And if you can't infect people with your passion for a cause because you don't know how to tell them about it, what impact will you really be able to make?

I know I'm biased, but I honestly believe communication is one area in which everyone needs to possess some level of proficiency.

Do you agree? Do you think there are other areas that people should devote energy to improving, even if it isn't a natural strength?