In This Issue: Strangers Insult Me With Childhood References

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.

Helpful Phrases For Small Talk Scenarios

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?

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

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

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

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.

What Do You Say to the Most Polite Spammer Ever?

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?

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

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!

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

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.

A Week So Bad a Bumper Sticker Made It Better

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?

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.

"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.

The Accident

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

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

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.

I Would Text You Some Love

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.

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.