Christmas has to be my favorite time of the year. It's my most adored holiday, and I love finding that perfect gift for the people I cherish the most. Intellectually, I know it's not about presents, but I can't help but get excited about finding gifts. Plus, I give money to needy children every month (not just during the holidays), so I tend to not have the guilt about spending some money on family & friends once a year.

I also love decorating the tree, and thank god each year that I was raised in a Christian household. (Sadly, that's the only time I'm thankful about being a Catholic...oh well.) My friends always make fun of the tree I select each year as they all agree it looks like Charlie Brown's Christmas tree, but I don't care. That's the kind of tree I adore.

One of the reasons why I can't get myself to leave SLC is that it snows here every Christmas. The snow here is fluffy, just like the ones you see in the movies or read about in books. It's gorgeous here when it snows, and trekking snow into the Cathedral of Madeline for the midnight mass is an enchanting experience. The children's choir sings like angels, and to experience that with my family is a tradition I hope will continue, always.

Boulangerie Chez Moi

(Click on the photos for a better view.)

Cassie said she & Chris drove to a Chinese restaurant down south (not The South, but south of SLC) and saw an Asian bakery. Apparently, Chris said, "I didn't know Asians baked?!" to which Cassie replied, "Yeah, Rachel bakes all the time!"

Yes, I've found another hobby. I've been baking like crazy. People ask me where I've been hiding myself, but I haven't really been hiding. It's just that I've been busy with my oven the last month or so. (Hence the lag in my posts.) As you probably know by now, once I get involved with something, I obsess until I get bored. (Unfortunately, that's what's happened to my hat making in case you were wondering where yours is.)

Anyway, I've stopped using the bread machine, and have actually started making my breads by hand. It's really fun, and so good. (Just had some folks over for some homemade bread & soup on Monday.) I've also made this killer pear pie, only my second in my entire life, but it turned out beautifully...not too sweet with the perfect crust. And I also baked three cakes in the last month. So yummy, I can't wait to come home from work every day.

The problem is, I've added dessert to all the food I've been making, (read my last post) and my mirror is screaming, "Stop! Get a hold of yourself!" So I'm afraid my baking will have to come to a halt at the end of this month. (Plus, my gym just went out of business...damn Bally's!)

Welcome to America!

Most of you know that I wasn't born in the States. My family moved here when I was ten, and with the move, I gained an eating disorder along with a new culture & a new language. You see, an eating disorder is not something you commonly find in a third-world country like my motherland; it happens to folks who have way more food than they know what to do with.

Let's just say that in trying to acclimate to the new culture, our family dove right in & began frequenting fast food restaurants as soon as we discovered all those fabulous drive-ins. What did my parents know about fast foods other than that a family of four on a budget (my dad didn't work for the first two years...we were living off of savings as he was here to study full time & well, my mom really had no skills other than shopping,) could eat at McDonald's for oh, I don't know, perhaps $5 back in the day?

Not only could we eat real meat for that cheap (red meat was very expensive in Korea back then...before they opened the doors to American cows which are imported real cheap, killing the Korean ranchers...but let's save that for another post ), but every time we went there, they gave us these little game pieces which we would lick & glue to the game sheet. It was called the Million $ Match 'n Win & it promised a million dollars & other cool prizes if we were able to match the game pieces. The only thing was, no matter how often we'd eat a big-mac at McD's, we could never get that one G-damn piece that promised us a cool Mil.

What did we know, we were immigrants?! We were fresh off the boat, and we thought, what an amazing country- not only do they sell inexpensive, delicious meals, but they also wanna give away money for frequenting their restaurants! My mom would call her best friend who had also immigrated not too long after we had, and tell her to go to McD's. She thought that maybe the missing game piece was in Chicago. They made a pact they'd split the winnings if either one of them won with the missing pieces they were going to swap. What suckers we were...

Anyway, back to my eating disorder... You've all seen Supersize Me, right? Well, imagine a ten year old kid who's never had fast food in her life, suddenly eating McDonald's every week plus that ever so healthy school lunch 5 days a week. You guessed it, I became a little porker. My parents, having no sense of what a high fat diet & soda (also something I never drank until moving here) could have on a child, just thought I was eating too much, and literally wouldn't let me drink water at one point thinking drinking too much water was also adding to my obesity. (Alright, not obese in the way Americans get big, since that would be scary for a little Korean girl, but pretty fat for a ten year old Asian.)

What they didn't know is that I was also buying KitKat every day at school with my left over lunch money. Everyone else was buying candy, and I wanted to fit in; so even though I was not a huge chocolate fan, I bought & ate this crunchy, chocolate covered wafers (the least disgusting of the bunch) not realizing it was also adding to my fat quotient. So My parents & I fought over my weight for 2-3 years.

Then I turned thirteen, and looked in the mirror one day and saw a fat, Asian girl staring back at me. I don't know how this happened...maybe I discovered boys for the first time, but probably more because my parents moved me to San Fernando Valley from Los Angeles proper. It was right around the time Valley Girl, the movie & song came out. Once again, with the pressure to fit in & realizing that to be a Valley Girl I had to be skinny & highly fashionable, I did what everyone else was doing those days- starving myself. I still remember having fights with my mom in Jr. High, not about eating too much now, but not eating enough. (I swear, I could never please that woman.) She'd bring in a tray of food to my room trying to force feed me, and I'd just throw the whole tray down, refusing to eat. (No, I never was anorexic, just lost enough to be plump, rather than fat.)

Anyway, let's just say, I've been struggling with my weight ever since. I don't remember having a stomach since those McD years, as I learned to manage my eating pretty well. I'd eat like mad for days, and starve for days. There were a few years in college when I did put my finger down my throat here & there (I know, it's real disgusting) but not sure if it was just from my binge eating or binge drinking. Could've been the binge drinking as what I discovered was that if I made myself throw up before crashing, I didn't have a hangover the following morning. (I know, real dumb, but hey, I was 18 & away from home for the first time. At least I wasn't snorting coke like everyone else those days even though everyone said it was the best diet drug.) But unfortunately, the stomach from the early years have returned. Not because of fast foods, (I know better now, and I also read Fast Food Nation.) but because I've all of sudden discovered how nice it is to pamper myself.

I've spent many years entertaining friends spending lots of money & many hours cooking fabulous meals for their enjoyment all the while eating cereal when alone. Depending on the boyfriend, I'd cook for him & share decent meals with him; but as of late, since that department's been kinda non-existent, I'd find myself only cooking when friends were over. But for some reason when summer ended, I decided it was time that I pamper myself by cooking for me each night. Not because anyone was coming over, but because I deserved a great meal just for me.

Unfortunately, however, I've gained a spare tire around my waist in the last few months (I've never weighed 120 in my life!) It's really sad, and I keep thinking I need to start my diet method from Jr. High, but I'm older & wiser to know that's a bad solution. But what do I do? I must do something 'cause I think the extra weight is causing my back pain; and because of it, I've been lagging on my yoga workout. People think I'm crazy when I tell them I've gained a lot of weight, but I know they're just being nice...or is this my thirteen year-old self with the eating disorder talking right now. The crazy thing is, just a few weeks ago when I went to visit family in LA, my brother complimented me on my looks! (I know many of you don't even know I have a brother since I never talk about him, but he does exist.) He never compliments me, and he said I look a lot better now than I did last Christmas, meaning he likes the weight gain.

I don't know what to do. Perhaps I should start sharing food with friends again, more frequently, and stop making yummy desserts every night. Or perhaps there's no cure for what McD's has done to me, and I should go sue them & get liposuction.

I'll keep you all posted on my decision.

(And sorry for the lag in posts...I've been busy cooking & stuffing my face!)

Shrinking Brain

I've been in taxis many times in my life, but never in Los Angeles until this morning. Having a car is sort of a must when you live in LA since it's so spread out. There's even that song that was famous in the 80's called, Nobody Walks in LA. You really rarely see people walking in LA, and even though it seems to have changed a little now that there is that underground metro system, I wouldn't be able to survive without a car here. Plus, I'd be too afraid to ride in it with LA being an earthquake city and all. The possibility of being buried underground when the earthquake hits just doesn't sound like fun.

So when I woke up in my friend, Becky's bed this morning when her alarm went off at an ungodly hour of 8 (especially on a Saturday after a long night of too much fun & too much drinking), I couldn't fathom walking back to where I had parked my car the night before. I couldn't fall back asleep, and I felt like death. Phil was with us the night before, but he had already walked back to his car in the middle of the night to go home according to Becky who's eyes were shut closed, half dead beside me; and since she didn't have a car, I decided to call a cab. (Becky said it would take me an hour to walk to where my car was.)

The cab was no different than any other cabs I've been in. I sat in the back thinking how desperately I wanted to go home to my parents' as I was beginning to feel nauseous. I also looked out the window & felt bad that Phil had to walk all that way to his car. It really was far, and I would've been hating life had I had to walk all that way back. I imagined him cursing me, and hoped he wasn't too mad that he drove all the way to LA from Huntington Beach, and then had to walk all the way back to his car to drive home at 4 in the morning.

Then as I started digging into my purse for my wallet & my car key, I realized my key was missing. I was wrecking my throbbing brain trying to figure out where I could've left it, and decided it must've been at the Vermont (the bar where I had met Becky originally.) I knew the place wouldn't be open, so I called my mom to have her bring the spare. The poor woman had to drive 40 miles to bring her irresponsible daughter the spare key, and all I could think about was how shitty it was going to be to wait on the curb for her with a horrific hangover.

Well the hangover disappeared pretty quick when the taxi made its last turn to the street where I had left my car. My car was gone. I thought, g*d damn it! Did it get towed?! Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t! That's gonna cost me a pretty penny! What an expensive night this turned out to be...$20 cab ride, and probably $200 to recover the car. But when I got out of the cab & looked at the parking sign, I noticed that the 2 hour parking limit didn't start until 8, and it was not even 9 yet. And there was nothing that indicated I couldn't park there over night.

That's when I panicked. OMG, did my car get stolen? Did I drop the key next to the car? I remember pressing the button to lock the door as I was walking away from the car...or did I? Did I leave the key in the ignition? I thought I had just lost the car key, but I had lost my car as well! Great, I had lost my $40k car I had left behind in LA because I didn't want to be driving a B-mer, and I really got my wish...I no longer had a BMW.

I was about to call the police, but luckily a cop drove down the street, so I hailed it down. It was a big fiasco because I had an out-of-state driver's license, couldn't remember the plate number, and had to explain why I had a California registered car in LA, when I live in SLC. (Being a teacher wouldn't require me to have another car in a city I rarely visit.) I also had to explain that I had left the car over night far from where I was at because I was too drunk to drive it.

The guy kept asking me if I was drunk when I parked it, was the one parked up the street mine, was I sure I parked it in that spot, etc. I explained to him that I was a responsible teacher & would never drive my car drunk...hence the reason it was left there. Well, they finally found me in the system, and was told that I still have an active CA driver's license, but that I had $50k outstanding thingamajig I owed the State. (I don't...they were just messing with me by this time. The lady officer even gave me some gum since I had one foul morning breath from passing out drunk the night before. I must say, these LA cops were real nice & friendly.)

I thought, see, this is why I would never move back to LA. This is a sign...it's telling me this place is dangerous & I don't belong here. My mom eventually showed up as I was finishing with the police officers, and we drove home with her telling stories of her friends having had their cars stolen to only find out they had parked it elsewhere. "Mom, I wasn't drunk when I parked it. I know where I parked the car, and I'm not going senile even though I did leave my jacket in Kim's car." (Kim had picked me up from the airport, and I did leave my jacket in her car two days prior.)

I spent the rest of the day either hugging the toilet or passed out on my parents' bed feeling like death even in my sleep. I had to cancel all my plans for the day, and promised I'd never drink again...again, for the 100th time. Then in one of those half waken state, I saw myself walking to Becky's house from a car...but why wasn't I dropped off right in front of her building? Why did I have to walk like half a block to her apartment complex? (One of Becky's friends had driven us around all night in her convertible.) That's weird...no, but if I had driven my car, why would Becky not have said something this morning when I took the cab to my car? And she hasn't called... I must be delirious.

Well, I called Phil since I knew he wasn't as drunk as me or Becky to tell him about my stolen car, but to also confirm that we had been dropped off at Becky's by the girl with the convertible. He didn't pickup, but while I was passed out again, he left me a message.

Rachel, you're too funny. We drove to Becky's. You drove your car, I drove my car, and we parked it right across from her building. It was parked right behind mine when I left, I'm sure it's still there. And no, I didn't walk all the way back to get my car. It was parked only a half block away. You said you were fine to drive...had I known you were that drunk, I wouldn't have let you driven. But you did drive fine. Call me back.

Unbelievable...I had no memory of that part of the night. Holy sh*t, that report on NPR the other day is right. Drinking does shrink your brain...and I've been drinking for over 20 years.

When I called the police station to tell them that the car hadn't been stolen & that I was going to go get it in the morning from my friend's house, the guy on the phone said,

"Unless you want to have guns pointing at you & end up in jail until they can prove you didn't steal the car, do not go near the car. Call us when you get to your friends' in the morning from a neutral place, not too close to the car. The police will need to recover your vehicle first before you go near it, or you will end up in jail. I repeat, do not go near your car."

I swear, I'm done drinking... for reals.

Becky did eventually find my key.

Alcohol the Culprit?

I was invited to a dry birthday party last night, and was told I'd be the only one drinking if I brought any alcohol. I was a little hesitant to go because I pictured us drinking milk and playing pin the tail on the donkey. But because it was a party for a good friend of mine, I decided to go. (Yes, such parties do exist if you've befriended a bunch of Mormons.) However, as the night progressed, some non-Mormons showed up with alcohol & I did get to enjoy a few glasses of wine. If you're wondering why this tidbit of background info, it is so you understand that there were a quite a few none drinkers at this party.

So as it always happens when you gather people around who work together, a few office stories were shared. Apparently, a guy was fired after a work party. He made some pervy comments to one of my friends, which bordered on sexual harassment. She was surprised (because she had thought the guy was kinda cool) & walked away; but when he didn't show up to work the following week she asked around & heard that he was let go after the party. She thought he must've done the same thing to others, and perhaps to a wrong person who reported it. Of course this is all speculation, but for a moment, few of us were discussing the topic of sexual harassment at work.

In case you're not familiar, sexual harassment is any behavior of a sexual nature that is unwelcome, unasked for and unreturned. It can be physical, verbal, written or visually offensive material, according to Google. My friend Hasen didn't think a guy could get fired for saying pervy things to a girl at a party, even if the company threw it. So whether someone could get fired for an out-of-work or off-site party behavior was in question.

This is when I heard the most ludicrous thing ever. It went something like (I'm totally paraphrasing here), "Well they served all that alcohol, what d'ya expect?" Plus a few more comments that emphasized the alcohol distribution by the company & the typical behavior of a guy under the influence. I couldn't believe my ears, but I kept my mouth shut.

An article I had read a few weeks back flashed in my mind. It took place in a little suburb right outside of SLC. A group of Mormons were pissed at the city council for letting restaurants serve alcohol in their neighborhood. One of the leaders who voted on the measure was screamed at by one of these Mormons, "You're going to burn in hell!"

I could not believe this girl was blaming alcohol for the guy's bad behavior. Not only has she never had an alcoholic beverage in her life, I don't think she's ever been to a work function. Doesn't matter how lax the work atmosphere is- it is still work, and you never, ever make unwanted sexual advances at a coworker. That's work etiquette number one, and unless you're a total douche bag, you don't use alcohol as an excuse either. If this girl's theory is correct-that alcohol at a work party is the culprit-then I'm surprised not more guys get fired after work parties since it is very typical for work functions to have free liquor for everyone to enjoy.

This is why we have people who blame the victim for getting raped. It's that same mentality. If she wasn't drinking & wasn't dressed like a slut, it wouldn't have happened. I know we're all different & have different beliefs, but it's really hard to understand the way others think sometimes...especially when they are so young. I can understand older people having backward thoughts because they just come from that backward thinking generation, but seriously, how is our society going to change at all when young people make comments like that?

Not all non-drinking Mormons think that way & hence the reason I've hung out with them as much as I have. They are pretty open minded about a lot of stuff. I just wonder how they can hang out with someone who has such uber backward view even if they do belong to the same faith.

I think they need to teach their ultra religious friends that quote: Alcohol may be man's worst enemy, but the bible says to love your enemy. Now if I could only remember who said it.

I AM Asian!

My friend Chris is an amazing cook. Lucky for his wife Cassie, he cooks for her every night. If I was married to Chris, I'd be a tub o' lard, but Cassie's one skinny biotch...I hate her. But this post isn't about Cassie, nor is it about Chris. Surprise, surprise, it's about me. More specifically, it's about me & Asian cooking. The reason I bring up Chris is because he knows how to make incredible Asian food.

I was not a big Asian culinary fan. In fact, the first time I had sushi, I cried. I cried because my dad was forcing me to try it, and I didn't want to. Embarrassing to say, but I wasn't seven. More like seventeen. Not only was I spoiled, but I was a big cry baby until I graduated college. I also remember hating Thai food. My friends who had started exploring all these different types of foods, having finally left home to go to college, introduced me to some peanut sauce chicken dish & something else I can't remember. (They were going to UCLA hanging out at hip restaurants on Melrose while I was eating tacos at Roberto's taqueria down in San Diego.) I thought it was disgusting & stayed away from Thai food for ten years.

I had always been a finicky eater, and even though I lived in Korea until age ten, I grew up eating steaks, roasts & rotisserie chicken every week. Yes, I was a huge meat eater & liked my food kinda bland. Oh yeah, I loved, loved cheese. (Not many people ate cheese back then in the old country, and according to my family, probably the reason why I have White people's B.O. & have to wear deodorant when no other Koreans do. Did I mention they don't sell deodorants in Korea?)

So anyway, Vietnamese, Indian, Japanese, Thai...none of their foods fared well with me. (I did like Chinese, but not the super ethnic dishes.) But after moving to San Francisco, I gradually began to explore the Orient, and actually learned to like their foods even though I still preferred Italian, Spanish, Mexican, and French restaurants over Asian. It was during this time that I also discovered I was a pretty good cook. Have no idea how that came about as I grew up never having to lift a finger. We had a cook & a maid growing up in Korea, and when we moved to the States, my mom would get our meals from a restaurant or a caterer & pretend she made it. (She was a horrible cook.)

Well, I began throwing dinner parties once I moved out on my own, and realized how much I enjoyed entertaining. That tradition continued here in Salt Lake City. Amazingly, the group of friends I made here are also fantastic cooks, and that's when I experienced Chris' Asian cooking. He had all sorts of Asian sauces & ingredients in his kitchen...stuff I had never seen or heard of before. I mean, my kitchen was filled with spices & oils, but nothing that came close to what he had in his kitchen. You'd think he & Cassie were Asian by the looks of their kitchen. They even had a wok! I never had a wok until recently. I remember once when Chris was making dinner, I volunteered to make the rice. He seemed hesitant to let me do it, but I said, "C'mon Chris. I'm Asian. It's in my genes...I know how to make rice. Let me do it."

I burned the bottom of his pot (the rice on the bottom burned while the rest was mushy.) The truth is, I can't make rice. The irony is (being Asian & all), being a skillful cook as I've been praised of being, when it comes to making food from the Orient, I suck...I mean royally suck. I even mess up rice in the rice cooker. Chris won't let me go near his rice anymore, and he gives me this look like, and you call yourself Asian, you fraud.

So, I've been on a mission to change this. I've been practicing, with not much success at first; but this last weekend, I went back to the Chinese Market (Chris & Cassie turned me on to this place). Even though I wanted to gag because it smells real funky in there, I roamed around for about an hour & spent about sixty dollars. (That's a ton considering this place is super duper cheap.) I brought home all that stuff Chris has in his kitchen & more, and began cooking up Chinese & Thai all this week. The first attempt was disastrous. The Chinese eggplant dish was bitter & the meat tasted like barf. The rice was like porridge, and once again, I failed it in the rice cooker.

The next day, I tried Thai. I attempted at Pad Thai. I almost choked on it because the noodle was still hard & stiff. (Don't understand why I can't boil it like pasta...the recipe calls for soaking in warm, not hot, but warm water.) The lemon grass soup was pretty decent, but hot as hell. Tears were rolling down my cheeks because it was so damn spicy.

Thank god my aunt & cousin came over for dinner yesterday. (Yes, Alex was in town for a few days for those of you who thought I was lying to leave Park City early.) I couldn't make them be my guinea pigs, so I made shrimp & chicken Paella...a Spanish rice dish. It was fabulous. My first decent meal all week. What is wrong with me? Why can't I make Asian food?!

Well today, I attempted Thai again. My friend Eve stopped by with some clothes. She tried the Pad Thai & thought it was pretty good. The noodles were soft. It actually wasn't too bad this time. Of course after she left, I found two ingredients by the sink I forgot to add, but at least the noodles were soft. I also made this squid dish. Never touched raw squid before. I was kinda grossed out by it, but needed the practice for my seafood Paella & my future Calamari. So I persevered and sliced the heads off. It turned out pretty good, too. And finally, my jasmine rice was perfect. It didn't burn the pan (I forewent the rice cooker).

I was worried that I would forever be dubbed the Asian who couldn't make rice, but I believe I've turned a new leaf. I can make rice, god damn it! Just watch me make that sticky rice in that urn with the hat. (That last sentence is for Chris.)

How do I look, God?

One of the perks of living in Salt Lake City is that you get free access to the BYU Mormon channels. Not being a huge TV fan, I don't have cable. So on those rare occasions when I just want to veg out, I find myself flipping through the channels and inevitably end up on one of these three stations. (Don't know whether they have 3 stations or somehow are able to show 3 programs on 3 different channels, but I receive all three on my digital TV.)

Today was one of those days. It rained, plus I partied all weekend because it was a friend's birthday, so I was pooped & just wanted to hide out in my basement. I purposely put my TV down there so I won't be tempted to sit in front of it when tired. (It's long ways down, and being the lazy bum that I am, I only go down there to do laundry on occasion.) Usually, I find other ways to amuse myself, but like I said, being a zombie in front of that box was badly needed today.

So as I'm flipping through the channels as nothing was on, (it is Sunday & football season I gather from all the football coverages...wait a minute...I thought football was on Mondays...Monday Night Football, right?) I stopped at one of the Mormon channels (the other two had some old men bearing their testimonies...the Mormons are always talking about bearing their testimony if you're not familiar...and don't ask me... all I know is that they cry while at it.)

Well, on that third channel, a pretty blond girl was talking about modesty. (Did I mention there are a lot of blonds here? I remember my first month teaching here joking to a friend in California, I can't tell my kids apart, they all look the same...they're all blond & blue eyed!) The girl was educating me through this program (since I was watching) that God loves us so much, he gave his only son to forgive us for our sins, and since Jesus sacrificed so much for us, out of respect, we needed to dress respectably.

Before going out the door, I'm to ask myself, "Would Jesus approve of what I'm wearing today? Would he be proud of how I'm dressed?" She actually demonstrated this by going through her clothes in her closet, looking at herself in the mirror, brushing her hair several times, putting on her earrings, necklace, & a bracelet, and then smiling at her reflection, obviously very proud of what she saw.

Hmm, this must be why a 6 year old kid in my class used the word immodest my first year teaching in SLC. I thought, how clever this little girl is, knowing a word like that at age six; but now I know, it's probably a word that's used quite often in her home/church environment. Now I understand why the Principal addressed the entire faculty & students via the intercom on how we should dress. It was me! She was addressing me! I didn't grow up in Utah, and missed the educational shows like the one I watched today dealing with modesty. I don't look in the mirror every morning and ask that critical question- Jesus, how do I look? You approve? (I also never brush my hair.)

I wear tops that show my shoulders, I don't always wear a bra...actually, I rarely do (I don't have them knockers everyone seems to have here...I swear, my first few months here, I thought I had somehow ended up in LA again), and I wear a dress over my jeans. (That's something I picked up living in San Francisco where it's always cold, even when it's sunny in the afternoon. You learn to layer because you never know how hot or cold it's going to be through out the day. So since you do want to wear those dresses you have, but don't want to be caught with bear legs in case the fog rolls in or be wearing boots if the fog rolls out, you compromise by wearing both your dress & your pants.) But I don't see how that could be immodest, other than the fact that many of my dresses have spaghetti straps...oh, I do have that one black one that has no straps. But seriously, how is showing your shoulders immodest in the eyes of Jesus & God? (Apparently, not adhering to the modest dress-code also means I have no respect for myself.)

Come to think of it, a parent from my class told me this summer that my first year at Beacon Heights (my school), my clothes were the talk of the community. Apparently, some of the faculty & my boss were concerned how the parents would react to my immodesty. I wonder if God would frown upon the indigenous people around the world who wear next to nothing because the climate is so darn hot. Aren't there Mormons in Europe? How do they go to the beach where all the females walk around with their bare boobies? Wait a minute, don't the Brazilians also take their tops off at the beach? I thought a ton of LDS Missionaries go to Brazil from here. I wonder if they take a copy of that program I saw to teach the natives how to dress so God will be pleased.

In the Name of the American Dream

I've lost over $20k in the last twelve months...all due to the crazy stock market. It's one of those things people tell you to do...save for your old age- i.e., your retirement. Something I really never thought much about since I was a teacher & barely made enough to pay my bills. Plus, I literally thought there was somebody at the school district putting money away for me so I can retire when I turn 55 or something. I was young & couldn't fathom the idea of putting money aside (over what was being taken out of my paycheck) for later when there were so many things I wanted to do, like travel to Europe every chance I got.

But one day while still living in San Francisco, I saw an old woman walking, or rather, shuffling her feet down the street to catch the same bus I was getting on. I watched her waiting for the bus as she leaned her weak old body against the tree. She looked miserable, withered, thin & tired; and when the bus finally came, it took her about a million years to get on. There are many homeless people in SF, but for some reason, I had a panic attack watching this old lady painstakingly get on the bus.

I imagined myself at sixty, poor & old, having to take the bus because I was too poor to get around any other way. Being poor is no big deal when you're young, but the thought of having to live off of a $600/month social security check after retirement frightened me, especially since I tend to lust after poor boys & there was no chance of them ever supporting my ass. (Also my dad had always said he was leaving all his money to the poor when he died... so I knew I couldn't rely on a possible inheritance.)

As I tend to be with everything I delve into, I went nuts with this idea of not being poor & homeless at sixty, and researched high & low reading up on everything that could possibly help me secure my future, financially. Luck would have it, I found this Mayor's Housing Program which helps you buy a place if you're poor as most teachers are; and subsequently learned that our government gives us a huge tax break when we owe a lot of money to the bank like we do when we buy a house. (Unless you're very rich & can buy a house with cash, most of us can only afford to buy a house & pretend it's ours when the bank gives us a huge loan.)

So here I was, living in a phat loft in San Francisco with money borrowed from the bank & getting a huge pay increase because I didn't have to pay as much tax as I used to when I didn't owe anyone any money. So with that extra cash flow, I got on the internet & started looking at mutual funds-something my mom had told me to do a long time ago, but never paid any attention to. I started putting a little of what I could afford into something called the Roth IRA, rented out my place to rich NY yuppies who thought $3000/month rent was a bargain in SF during the summers months I wasn't working, and traveled to Europe.

I was living the American dream- owning a house, getting a tax break, collecting money as a landlord during my off months, fattening up my portfolio (the stock market) and traveling. While I was amassing my wealth, I patted myself on the back for being so smart with my money. I wasn't going out & buying brand name clothes but was saving for my future. I was not driving a fancy car nor shopping at Wal-Mart (strangely, I actually never saw a Wal-Mart until I came to Utah) or the Gap & doing other things that supported the big, bad corporations. I started frequenting second hand stores & educated myself by reading books like No Logo by Naomi Klein.

Until No Logo, I really didn't realize the price we pay, or rather some third-world country factory workers pay for the brands we can't live without or the cheap bargains we hunt for at places like Wal-Mart. I mean I always had the upper-middle class guilt for having grown up so comfortably with everything I ever wanted when so many lived without. But this book gave new meaning to consumerism & made me look at the choices I was making through a new lense. I paid attention to the way I shopped not only out of the middle class guilt, but also because I realized my choices affected people & societies around the world.

Stupidly however, I never connected my method of saving with the big corporations I had begun to detest (watch the Corporation ) until I stumbled on another book by Naomi- the Shock Doctrine. I've been reading it feverishly since I got my hands on it last week as well as reading the Nation on line. Consequently, a few days into reading this book, all this mayhem erupted on Wall Street. First I freaked that my savings had essentially dropped 20% & saw myself walking the streets as a bag lady in my sixties. Then as I continued to learn more about our global economy- the way free market & capitalism are essentially wiping out much of the so called "middle class or working class" around the world, increasing poverty as well as the mega rich (which none of us who read this post will ever be)- I realized my house buying & stock buying aided in creating this crisis.

Big corporations like the banks, investment firms, and huge insurance companies like the AIG have used ordinary people like me to amass a ton of money for the greedy few & now the stupid government is bailing them out which means our tax dollar, which should be paying for our schools, health care, and the elderly (so people like us don't have to worry about becoming poor in our old age), is essentially covering the cash those rich few (okay, a lot more than a few) used to buy million dollar vacation houses & toys around the world, I'm sure, while putting the rest in some secret Swiss bank accounts. (I know someone who bought a $3 million apartment in cash in NYC. He's a hedge fund guy who works for one of those investment companies, and he's considered poor next to some of these Swiss account holders.)

I'm not sorry about losing my money anymore. I'm shocked at what we have done in the name of prosperity & capitalism. It always astounded me how many people go hungry even in the States, and I wanted to murder people who'd say those people making $1/week working at those horrible factories that manufacture all the things we buy here in the States are better off than how they lived before. (They have a choice, I remember Miles saying...who's pro capitalism to the max,) but I could never really backup my argument against it or tell why I thought socialism was better with any solid facts other than my own lofty ideas...until now.

Well, from a person who's tried her damndest to stay out of politics (because in my quest for Zen, I've opted to work on myself rather than try to get involved in something I felt I had no control over), I'm telling you, you must educate yourself with the goings-on of the world with a book like this one. You have to read the Shock Doctrine by Naomi Klein. It will blow your mind.
(It's at the library.) And then read this article on the Nation & see what the Latin Americans are doing.

I know my blog is supposed be about the goings-on of my little life in SLC, but I'm consumed at the moment with the goings on of the world. Once you read this book, you'll understand why.

The Hat Maker

I'm crazed. Been cranking out a hat or two a night, and have decided to either give them away to my cute little kids for x-mas, or sell them & start a side business. (I've received orders from faculty members already.) The kids saw me crocheting during recess & begged to try them on, so today, I brought 'em all to school & had some of the kids model them for me. Aren't the kids just adorable? How can I not love teaching these little cutie pies every day!

Life's Little Pleasures

Just got done making my first crocheted hat ever. Actually, two hats. I knitted a couple of hats two winters ago when I got into knitting for a month (of course as always, got bored with it after I mastered it). I gave them away as gifts & didn't think much about hats until this spring when I saw a cute crocheting book at the library. I checked out the book and bought some yarn & a needle to attempt crocheting, but couldn't follow the written direction for the life of me. Even tried watching some 11 year-old boy do it on YouTube, but he was too fast (watched that thing about 10 freakin times!) So I gave up on making my hat. Plus summer was approaching & I had other projects I wanted to work on.

Then this morning while getting ready for work, I looked out the window & realized summer was definitely over. I could feel the cool breeze & I knew Utah winter would be here before I knew it. I started thinking about hats again and remembered there was a para (teacher's assistant) at my school I've seen crochet. So I took my yarn & needle with me to school & found the lady during my lunch break. She said she hadn't crocheted a hat in a long time, but showed me the basic steps to making a circle. (That's the part I couldn't figure out before.) She wasn't sure whether it would turn out or not, and promised to bring me a pattern tomorrow. But even with her warning, I couldn't stop. By the time lunch was over, I had a round doily.

After school, I brought the doily home & continued crocheting. (I go crazy when I start something new... I can't stop until I'm done.) Before I knew it, I had turned the doily into a fabulous hat. I was so excited I called my friend Cassie to tell her the news. She didn't seem very excited...she was in the middle of fixing her state-of-the-art espresso machine. Thought about calling another friend but realized I'd probably get the same reaction. So instead, I popped in a movie that was overdue and proceeded to make my second hat. (Sh*t's incredibly addicting.)

I think I was supposed to count the stitches, but got too involved in the movie to care, and soon I had a round hot-pad the size of a flour tortilla they use at those taquerias. But not to fear. The coolest thing about this crochet thing is you can undo the stitches & never lose your place the way it happens in knitting. Anyway, I'd become a pro at gliding the needle in & out, and used not knowing how many stitches I had to my advantage & ended up with the coolest shaped hat ever. Not sure if I could duplicate the hats, but I'm totally into it. It's way easier than knitting, and you only need one needle vs two. I almost want to cancel my trip to Lava this weekend so I can stay home & crochet.

That's the thing about being a dabbler...there's so much to do & not enough hours in a day. It's already time for bed, and I really want to crochet another hat...

Mid-Morning Treat

Yesterday was my first day with the kids. 23 adorable little people I'll surely fall in love with in no time. I already have a favorite. (Don't believe it when teachers say they don't have one. It's a lie.) Her name is MayCee. There was this connection the moment we met, and the little munchkin gave me a huge hug and said, "I love you."

She likes watermelon. She told me so when we learned our first poem of the year titled, So Long Summer! It's a cheesy poem about saying good-bye to things we do in the summer and saying hello to school; and eating watermelon was one of them. She raised her hand to tell me how much she loves watermelon. (Just like me.)

Well, lucky for her, Ms. Lee owns a small organic farm, and one of the things that actually survived the "drought" was her watermelon. So I promised MayCee & the rest of the class that I'd bring one in for snack today, and they all cheered. (Gotta love those little first graders. They cheer just about every time I say I'm gonna bring them something.)

So I picked my little watermelon this morning & brought it to school. Wasn't big enough for everyone to share, but we had enough for all the watermelon lovers. It was my first organic watermelon, and theirs too, I'm sure. It had a ton of seeds, but no one cared. We had fun spitting 'em out.

I should totally bring the kids to my farm on a field trip. Wonder if I'd get in trouble for having them weed. It would be an awesome Gardening Unit, and we could learn about organic farms...

Om Shanti Shanti Shanti

Earlier this summer, my friend Phil asked me if I wanted to get married. When I asked him why, he said he just wondered because I seem so content...meaning content with my life.

My "sister" Beau- an astrology expert- said the other day that he would not have guessed I was a Cancer (other than the fact that I was very nurturing) because I seem emotionally stable unlike many Cancers he knows.

For some reason, those two thoughts popped into my head as I was practicing yoga today. And it happened right after I had this strange experience. The only thing I could equate it to is what I'd imagine a religious experience to be. I literally felt a shift inside my body. I felt something lift away, and I was filled with total bliss. It was amazing. It almost felt like I was high on ecstasy, but it wasn't cloudy & dreamy. It really was ineffible.

I've felt total relaxation on many occasions at the end of yoga when we lie there on the floor doing the savasana (the death pose). And on many occasions I've thought that I could just die right there in peace without any fear or regret. But never have I experienced this total harmony where I felt one with deity. It was weird, but so awesome.

The fact that the experience was followed by those two thoughts made me realize it must be yoga that's giving off that vibe to the people I meet, if that's the way they see me. And I do feel totally content tonight, especially having come home to a mowed lawn & a lovely note from one of my favorite friends in SLC, the HasenPfeffer. (If you haven't heard, I hate yard work, especially mowing, right there next to weeding.)

All the love I sent out to the universe during yoga came right back at me with an angel who mowed my lawn just because I asked... Yoga rocks!

Dumb Rules & Guilt

Work officially starts for me tomorrow. Thought I was going to go in a day early to start the week off on a Monday instead of Tuesday, but can't seem to get myself out of the house. It was such a fun summer, I don't want it to end, even though it has ended. The thought of being around 30 or so grouchy teachers for a week before the kids show up is making me a little depressed.

I don't get it. I always thought teaching & being around kids were the reasons for my youthful looks and my silliness; but other than myself, many of the other teachers I have worked with look so withered, tired, and old, not to mention angry. Perhaps this is why I've never really made friends at work & keep a distance, and probably why most think I'm anti-social, and would be shocked to find out how easily I make friends.

I remember when I first started teaching, I was surrounded by either old timers who couldn't wait to retire (and hated kids) or young people who were those types that never shared their notes at school or ever let you copy their work. It loyally sucked being around downers like that, and so I kept myself away from the lunchroom and hung out with the kids in the playground. I could never understand what the big deal was that my students ran down the hallway ('cause I do sometimes, too) & didn't walk in a straight line like little soldiers, and began to hate all the dumb rules they had in schools. (Don't they remember being kids themselves? I used to wonder.) Of course I've grown up a bit and realize some of those rules are there to keep the kids safe, but I still say most are BS.

Like last year, I had this character in my class whom I adored. He was like a little midget (everyone thought he was a kindergartner even though he was in first grade) & funny as h*ll. He apparently got into a lot of trouble with his teacher the year prior, but with me, he became the star of the class. He wrote crazy, awesome stories after spending a week refusing to use capitals & lower case letters properly (hE thOugGht iT wAs reTarDed tHat hE couLdn't Use thEm aNyway he wAnTed) until I finally got him to understand why it was necessary; and even convinced me to let him stay in during recess with the argument that it was a better use of his time to help me or work on a project than walk around the yard aimlessly since he didn't feel like playing any games. How could I say no to that argument?

He actually became the most popular kid in the entire school because whenever we'd have school performances, he'd do this crazy act (sort of like the Hasen-dance if you watched the video clip on my earlier post). I thought he was hilarious and let him do his thing because otherwise, he would just be this weird looking midget everyone made fun of. But with his antics, he took the attention away from his size & became the rock-star as noted by all the six graders.

Well, I got called into the office and got in trouble for encouraging him. My principal thought Connor, the midget, was acting inappropriately, and ruined the performances when in my opinion, he's what made those boring performances actually enjoyable to watch. And each time we did anything in the auditorium, I was warned to keep him in line. So in order to keep my job, I had to beg Connor to be ordinary. Of course he tried to argue he wasn't hurting anyone (which is the one thing I try to teach them all year with being kind & compassionate), but when he realized I was in trouble, he gave in.

So this brings me to the movie I saw yesterday which also made me depressed: Brideshead Revisited. Not only did it make me depressed, but made me want to move. Had no idea it was going to have such heavy religious repression & guilt splashed all over it. I thought I was going to see a British literary costume drama with the plummy accents & hunky yet so civilized men, but came out feeling punched in the stomach by Catholicism & its lethal weapon. Not just Catholicism (I was baptized Catholic), but just religion in general with its moralizing, which in this movie drives a homosexual character to drink to escape the guilt (which essentially ruins his life) and poisons the love between two other characters.

The movie tried to show a comforting power of faith in midst of its power to destroy; but what I saw was how it manipulated a person into succumbing to what he could only view as comfort in the misery of his guilt-ridden, repressed life, or rather life full of lies and half truths. I see it all around me, especially in this State where most call themselves Mormon and "follow" the rules of their church. I've met quite a few gay men who are "trying" not to be gay, which is so sad because the church they love is telling them who they are is wrong. I know it's not just the Mormons, and this happens in most religions and cultures, but that's just it. All organized religions seem to say, our way is the right way, keeping people out who are different rather than embracing everyone for who they are.

So today I wonder if I want to live and work in a city where so many either live a repressed life because they've been told it's living in sin to drink, masterbate, have sex, be gay, etc. or live a life of half truths because they have to hide their lifestyle to their family. I know it's not all black and white, and am probably reacting to this so strongly because I, myself, was raised in a religious family; but do I want to raise my future kids in a city where they "marinate" because having premarital sex is wrong & beat themselves up for masterbating? Do I want them to be around kids who habitually lie & hide their true selves b/c their religious family will judge them?

Who makes up these dumb rules & why do they brainwash young kids into believing that so many things are sinful that they live in frustration & guilt? I just can't seem to help but grapple with this aspect of religion which keeps me away & makes me want to withdraw from it completely.

My New Little Sister

I always envied my friends who had sisters. They always seem to have secrets, tell each other everything, go shopping together, gab all day, and just do lots of things together you can't really do with a brother.

Don't get me wrong, having been a tomboy as a kid, it was awesome having a little brother you could have sword fights with, skateboard with, and just run around with, with all the boys in the neighborhood. But when I got a little older, I envied my friends who could talk about boys, clothes, and sex with their sisters.

On the other hand, it's probably good I didn't have a sister because one thing I couldn't stand about girls growing up was how catty they were. Probably why I didn't have too many girl friends & enjoyed the company of boys much more.

But as so many good things seem to come my way here in SLC, I've found myself a sister...except he's a boy. His name is Beau. I love him. We have so much fun, when we hang out, we can't stop gabbing. We talk and talk and talk about everything, including sex; and I give him lots and lots of advice because he's 28 & Mormon, and you know what that means.

We talk about all the girls he meets as he is a lady's man (look at his pictures, what girl wouldn't fall for him), we go shopping together for kitchenwares because we both love to cook (he went to a culinary institute), we play music together (he's a fabulous musician), and we decorate together because we both have an innate talent for interior design. It can be exhausting, believe me, but he is so adorable, I can't stop gushing over him.

April & Eve, my two friends here who are sisters have a Sisters' Night every Monday. They meet after work, just the two of them, have dinner and do what sisters do, I imagine- tell secrets and gab all night. Well, I'm no longer jealous, because I'm going to have my own sisters' night with Beau, my new adopted boy-sister.

My Little Babes

It's a miracle. My little farm has produced edible goodies. Didn't think it was going to happen, especially after I was told by a self-proclaimed expert backyard farmer, Miles, that I wasn't watering enough. "Look at the leaves," he had said, "How could you not know you weren't watering enough? They're dying!" Well, frankly, I hadn't been going out there to even notice. It was too hot, even in my air-conditioned house. Why the h*ll would I go outside? Plus I had a new toy to play with- my piano.

Well, it finally cooled down yesterday... a breezy 85 degrees. It felt like fall, almost, so I ventured out to the back. Oh, I do have such lovely yard...too bad it's so hot here in the summer. I walked over to the little patch of farm to see how the leaves were doing, and I noticed something red. OMG, is that a tomato!? Yes, it was a tomato, bright red tomato! My own little tomato, and I found another one right behind it. I jumped up and down in excitement, almost falling off the ledge, and looked closer at the other plants. (My organic farm is separated by a small wall where I have to stand to look at the plants.)

OMG, I've got peppers, too! Oh sh*t, why did I plant so many? I thought one plant would yield about six at the most. Oh no, there's about thirty on each plant! Wait, what were they again? I had to dig around the ground to find the little plaque to figure out what kind of peppers I had planted. They were Anaheim Chiles. What am I going to do with all of these? Why didn't someone tell me I didn't need to plant so many? That Shane, some help he is!

Anyway, after the mini-drama I had in my head over all the wrong things I had planted, I proceeded to walk around the farm & found one watermelon, one eggplant, one jalapeno, two ripe cherry tomatoes, dead cucumbers, dead corn, and lots of green tomatoes hanging from the vine...is it called a vine? I couldn't help but smile looking at all my organics. No pesticides, not even any fertilizer or plant food, and I had myself my own fresh farm produce. I felt like a proud parent, even though I neglected them most of the time they were fighting to survive.

Now I understand why people do this every year, and kind of understand why people have kids. It's a lot of work & a pain in the behind, and at times you neglect them just out of pure frustration...but when they start maturing a bit & start looking like what they were meant to be, they're just so beautiful. Wow, I think I just grew up a little, maybe... I think my veggie garden helped me understand that having children is not the end of the world, as I had always thought. Oh my, am I finally ready for a conventional life of marriage and family? Oh no, what has Utah done to me?

But I so do hate the conventional...hmm, we'll see what unfolds.

the Manifester

About a year ago, I got it in my head that I wanted a Steinway. For those of you unfamiliar, Steinway is the Rolls-Royce of pianos, I would imagine, or a Bentley or whatever people seem to believe is the top-of-the-line car of the century these days. And if you know me at all, you know I'm not into brand names, and could care less what the logo says as long as it does what it's supposed to do without breaking apart in a week. I even get embarrassed and definitely have the middle-class guilt when it comes to owning nice things... probably why I gave away my BMW even though it drove stupendously. I even put out a disclaimer when people come over to my house for the first time, "Don't judge me for how my place looks. It's just a byproduct of how I was raised, but I'd be happier living in a trailer."

However, when it comes to musical instruments, I can't help but want the best. It's not a pair of jeans or a mass produced factory made product, (well in some cases, yes) but a work of art, crafted to sound just perfect in the hands of a talented musician (...and especially for those of us not as gifted because then whatever you play ends up sounding so much better.) The Steinways are built by hand, and it takes about a year to build this masterpiece. They've been doing it, I believe, since 1853.

Anyway, I had gotten into playing the guitar last year, and it subsequently got me into wanting to play the piano I used to hate as a kid. (I was tortured into playing two hours a day from age 5 to 10 until I escaped the Korean regime and fled to the States.) The painful memories of sitting in front of the giant black torture device while my brother & my friends played outside had finally eased up, and I actually wanted the monster back in my house. (I do have an electric piano, but it's just not the same.)

So I found a Steinway Dealership that sells these quality instruments and I went from one grand to the next like a kid in a candy store playing the only music I still knew how to play: Beethoven's Piano sonata No. 8 or part of it, anyway. Then came over the salesperson with the bad news. Fifty grand for the baby grand. $50,000!? I left the store, deflated.

Finish the remodel of the house or buy a Steinway? It was a tough decision, but in the end, my practical side won over and I shelved my dream of owning a Steinway. But as I always do when I badly want something, I pictured it in my house even though I knew I couldn't afford one on my teacher's salary.

Well, about a month ago, I got a phone call from my mom. Her friend was selling a used Steinway and wanted to know if I was still interested. $25,000, she said. "Mom, my birthday is coming up & I haven't made you waste money on a wedding...how about a piano?" She didn't think that was amusing. (My mom's been wanting me to get married since I was in my early twenties. She thinks I'm waiting for her to die so I can marry whomever I want.) She said if I got married, she'd buy me one. Seriously, here I am finally telling her I want to play the piano, something she's been wanting me to do all my life, and she dangles the marriage bit. I swear, nothing is free in life. People always seem to want something in exchange for whatever they're giving away...even your own parents.

Anyway, I finally convinced her to loan me the money, and got myself that sweet baby grand. (And Hasen, the only friend who was excited for me with this purchase, also gave me a fabulous idea for paying my parents back- my inheritance!) The piano came all the way from Chicago, so it needed tuning. I waited a month for this guy because he's the Master Tuner of all the notable Steinways in the city. He finally showed up this morning, and guess what? The piano's worth $35,000. Not only did I get the piano I wanted by visualizing it in my house, I made 10 grand in a month! How fantastic is that!?

So I've come to really believe what my friend, Lauren said about me. She said I was a manifester, and I think I really am. She said in the year she's known me, whatever I've said I really wanted in my life, I've gotten. And looking back on my life, I think she is absolutely right. It's not a wish thing, it's more of a concrete thing where I say I want this & I'm going to get it. How do you think I got my job, my house, and ended up in SLC? Try it. I don't think it's just me. I think anyone can do it.

I'm a Man, Apparently...

So I decided to be real "good" and didn't have a lick of alcohol last night, even though everyone else was boozing it up. Of course, all the ladies at the toenail party gave me a hard time about turning Mormon on them; or rather saving myself to party with the Mormons, instead. But I stuck to my guns and came home sober at 11 pm. I had decided I was going to cut down on my drinking...plus, I was saving myself for the possible debauchery tonight at the Trapp Door. (Not sure anymore though, as I've gotten no sleep. I bet the toenail ladies put a curse on me after I left. Tekoa does have a voodoo doll.)

My plans for a good night sleep (so I could rip the dance floor tonight) backfired on me. I guess my body's just not used to going to sleep sober these days, and I freakin' woke up at 6:30 and couldn't go back to sleep. So what can you do at 6:30 in the morning, especially now that I have a roommate? Not much. So I sat in front of my computer and started reading my friend, Christy's blog from the beginning as she takes some awesome pictures and writes funny captions to go along with 'em.

That's when I stumbled upon this thing called Celebrity Collage by MyHeritage.com. You can upload a photo of yourself, and it matches your face to celebrities. How fun! So I started out by uploading the profile picture I have on this blog page, which my friend, Kimon took with his amazing camera at the library when he came to visit. I like it because I think I look mischievous.

Well, what d'ya know...I'm White. I knew it! Even my own family called me a Whitey when I was little because I had red hair & freckles, and that list of Stuff White People Like is so me in so many ways.

Take a look:

But I had to try another one. This time it's me playing around with my photo-booth on my computer a few months ago.

That's more like it. It finally recognized that I am indeed Asian. I don't know who Matsu Takako is, but she's hot and she's Japanese. No wonder people talk to me in Japanese when I visit Korea. In case you didn't know, I'm not White nor am I Japanese. (Nor Chinese to those of you in Utah.) From what I've been told, I'm a descendant of the founder & the first king of the Joseon Dynasty in Korea.

I don't know. I still wasn't convinced. These chics are way too hot. So I tried another picture. That's me right now, messy bed-head, shiny face from the night cream I put on before going to bed (hey, how do you think I stay looking so young!?), all puffy and look what it turned up...

I'm a man. No wonder I get hot for girls when I'm drunk. That's my uninhibited male side coming out. Hmm...could this be why I like skinny, pretty boys in real life?

Family Ties

It had been a while since we were all together at Chris & Cassie's. Andrew was out of the hospital, Jake's new girlfriend was out of town which meant Jake was back with us again, and Hasen-Beau were gone so I was present. We were all there, and it was just our old gang again (except for this one lady from St. George not too many of us knew).

As much as all the fun I've been having with my new friends lately, there was definitely a sense of familiarity & sort of a coming home feeling to the evening, like the way it felt when I used to go home for the holidays in college. It was like being with my family again and realizing how much I adore & missed being with them all, even though I've been neglecting them a bit with the excitement of being around the Logan crowd.

To top it off, Chris showed us a bunch of Youtube clips of sitcoms we used to watch as kids, and we all sang along. (Punky Brewster, Family Ties, Silver Spoons, Growing Pains, Alf, the Wonder Years, Different Strokes, Small Wonder, Mr. Belvedere, Who's the Boss, etc.) We ooh-ed & ahh-ed over all the great shows commenting on how they don't make tunes like that anymore. I must admit, I got a little teary-eyed singing along to Family Ties because I was surrounded by people who love me the most in SLC - my family, my true A-team.