I'm Rich, Are You?

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!

One Year

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.

We Almost Froze to Death in a Blizzard

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

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.

"No Subject"

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?

Me And My Straight Teeth

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.

Christina v. the Universe

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.

Brush With the Underworld

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.

Mishmash, Hodgepodge & Tarnation

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!

Lessons From A Dairy Farmer

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

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

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.

1. 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.
2. I met Rob Lowe's younger twin at a coffee shop when he struck up a conversation about my iPhone.
3. I almost ended up in a ditch thanks to icy roads. I don't like icy roads.
4. I learned how to put chains on tires (I didn't actually *d0* it, but I watched).
5. I spent New Year's Day at my friend's house in the Cascade Mountains.
6. At the cabin, I watched a snow plow driver nearly slide his vehicle into the house.
7. I bought the most amazing boots with ruffles and happiness in every stitch.
8. You may have missed the TwitPic, but Amy and Trevor and I made a gingerbread outhouse. With lava on the roof.
9. My absence in Virginia has provoked at least one verified act of depression shopping, resulting in a huge television and Wii purchase.
10. 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?

Top 10 Too Pretty Posts of 2009

You know I'm not a resolutions girl, but I am all for Best Of compilations. So that's what we're doing today: celebrating the year's best Too Pretty posts.


What has been popular in 2009 around here? According to Google Analytics...

Why Am I Too Pretty For This? It's a good question.

A Week of Slight Improvements Apparently, I'm not the only one who avoids anything BUT baby steps.

3 Things You Can Do Today to Communicate Better If you're a regular reader, you know I like the number three.

What Daydreams Revealed It wasn't quite what I expected.

More Than a Haircut Donating my locks wasn't what I expected.

The Power of Hair We women like our hair, but I decided to get rid of mine.

PhD in Procrastinating I doubt I'm the only one with this degree.

45 Things That Don't Make Me Gnash My Teeth With a word like "gnash" in the title, how could this not be a popular post?

The Cranky Professor In which I experience a professional dumping.

I'm the Heroine of This Story A story of hardship that ends with the brave Christina eating a donut.

I'll be honest, I'm surprised by some of these Top Tenners (really, my amazing video didn't make it??). What did you enjoy this year? And what would you like to see increase in 2010?

The Plan Was Super Easy

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!

Goodbyes Can Be Good

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

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

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!

Three Pretty Things : 12/13

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...

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

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?