Catch me if you can...

On April 29, 2011, there was one question on everyone's mind:

WHY NOT ME?!?!

Something like 2/3 of the PLANET tuned in to see two rich, beautiful people's lives get even more fantastic. I, on the other hand, was part of the 1/3 that decided 4 am was a little too early to wear a fancy hat and be reminded of the castle and fairy tale wedding I didn't have.

I think we're all in agreement when I say -- God damn you, Kate Middleton.

Top 3 Reasons Why I want to be Kate Middleton:

1. She is absolutely stunning.

2. She gets to hang out with her friends and do royal shit.

3.


Boom.

^^ Lolz. Little girl. Not feelin' it.

I finally watched the wedding three weeks after the fact. I waited because, well, I didn't think I could handle it. I wanted to be her so badly that I didn't think I could handle watching her perfect life.

So, I snuggled up on the couch and scrolled down the Tivo list to ABC's broadcast of The Royal Wedding.

Question: Why is Barbara Walters still allowed on television? Homegirl brought up suicide twice and cut everyone off at least once. Calm down, Barbara. Calm down.



Anyways, the entire ceremony was, of course, extravagant and beautiful. The colors, the hats, the awful teeth. Everything was as it should have been.

But, to my surprise, I wasn't as upset as I thought I'd be. I figured I'd be on the floor sobbing with an empty box of Kleenex in one hand, half bottle of scotch in the other. I was actually perfectly composed. In my snuggie.

I attribute my composure to one moment in the wedding -- William and Kate are riding in the open carriage from Westminster Abbey to Buckingham Palace. The newlyweds are waving, flawless smiles gleaming. Suddenly the sky clears just enough to let down what seems to be God's heavenly light on Kate's angelic face, and all I could think was:

"Man. She looks hungry."

In a moment that seemed to capture everything that is incredible and perfect about Kate Middleton, all I thought was that she looked like she was jonesin' for a sandwich. Hardcore.

She looked absolutely stunning, but what does it take to look that incredible? A diet of ice water and a cherry tomato (only on your splurge day). As impossible as it sounds, being Kate Middleton is not easy. The entire world demands that she be perfect. Now, tell me, how the fuck do you do that?

Yes, she gets to be rich, beautiful and chillax with the Queen on Sundays, but will her life ever really be perfect? Running from paparazzi, forced to look fly 24/7, faced with a never-ending search for her flaws. Not so perfect to me.

- - -

Yesterday, I was having a conversation with my grandma over dinner about my grades. 3.78 GPA. Respectable. I know many an-asian-parent that would immediately ask "Why not 4.0?" My grandma, on the other hand, was glad I had a B+ on my transcript. Why, I ask.

"Because if you're perfect, you're stupid."

My grandma is like the super old/super wise turtle from Kung Fu Panda.



At first, she says stuff and you're like "WTF?" but then later you're like "Oh."

I came to realize that being perfect is stupid because it doesn't exist. My grandma explained that yeah, I could get a 4.0 but that would mean I'm either cheating or I'm working too hard. Not so perfect.

Graduation season got me thinking about "my future" and real life and the horrible mess of other things I should be worrying about.

2011. I was "supposed to" graduate this year. My facebook newsfeed is flooded with statuses about the Class of 2011, caps and gowns galore. My high school buddies land incredible jobs and update their "Work" information, inevitably making me wonder who I'm gonna be. Will I get a good job? Will I make a lot of money? Am I on the path to a perfect life?

All terribly stupid questions.

Get ready for it. Another Fight Club reference. Book this time, not movie.

Tyler Durden enters the novel on the beach, constructing something out of wood. The sun slowly sets and the narrator asks what he's building. Tyler says that at exactly 4:30 pm, the stacked pieces of beachwood cast a perfect shadow of a hand. For one minute, Tyler sat in the palm of perfection for which he alone was responsible. One minute of perfection. He leaves the narrator saying,

"A moment was the most you could ever expect from perfection."

Perfection is an instant.

When we try to be perfect, we only see our flaws. It's not a state of being. If perfect were a destination, we would come to a stop. Being perfect would mean there's nothing else because anything beyond that would simply be a mistake.

Seeing perfection as a moment in time keeps us moving, working toward the next time nothing matters and everything makes sense.

Perfection is the feeling when they finally hand you your order after half an hour in the In-n-Out drive thru. Perfection is seeing your grandparents laugh. Perfection is waking up and realizing it's Saturday so you can sleep in. Perfection is when you can finally exhale and release all the worries you had one second ago, even if it's just for one more second. Two seconds of perfection. It's worth chasing.

I'm not perfect. You're not perfect. Kate Middleton isn't perfect. All we can do is work to find perfection.

Albert Einstein said, "Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving."

Keep moving. Keep chasing. You will never reach perfect. You'll meet it. When you do, embrace it. Cherish it. Remember it because in an instant, it'll pass, ready for the next round of hide and seek.

It's taken me some time to understand that everything I have done thus far is not a means to an end. Getting my degree, getting a job -- that's not where it ends because there is no end.

As I move through my final year of college, I'll work hard not to reach a perfect state, but to create as many perfect moments as I can, to see more perfection in the world, to continue the chase, and catch it again and again.

36.

Death, uh, I mean, dead week. Some use it to party, some use it to sleep. Most use it to re-learn an entire semester’s worth of information, not because we were procrastinating, but because pressure makes diamonds, right? :)

Yesterday, I finally sat down at my desk and decided that it was time to begin this 7-day study marathon. How did I start? With a ceremonial 4 hour StumbleUpon sesh, of course.

After copious amounts of cute kitten pictures, macaroni and cheese recipes, and your everyday, run of the mill weird shit, I stumbled upon an article entitled “27 Lessons I’ve Learned in 27 Years.” Everything this person said was spot on (in both good and bad ways), but it left me a little puzzled/excited/concerned. I feel like I learned a majority of these things just during this school year. This either shows that I’ve made the most of my experience so far or that my eyes have been shut for the past 22 years.

So, I decided to compile my own list – 36 Lessons I Learned in 36 Weeks.

One or two are taken directly from the article I mentioned because they are both universal and so personalized at the same time. Also, I had a lot of help learning these lessons. Only some of these are personal realizations – most are because I have awesome friends who challenge me, make me better, and are willing to learn right there with me. Hope you guys enjoy. Feel free to post what you guys learned. God knows it’s nothing on that study guide sitting in front of you.

1. Keep a journal. It makes you listen to yourself, and you’re held more accountable for what you say and feel. And it’s almost always hilarious to read later.

2. Don’t let pancake mix dry on your clothes – it NEVER comes off.

3. You train people how to treat you.

4. You can never be too old for something. You can take yourself too seriously. You can’t be too old.

5. Cry.

6. Listen carefully. “Though something may be foolishly spoken, it may be wisely heard.” –Emerson

7. Sometimes you need to be lost to really figure out where you are.

8. Bring a camera with you everywhere.

9. Don’t expect to get everything from one person. That’s why we have more than one friend.

10. If something is easy, it probably isn’t really worth doing.

11. Beer is awesome. And not awesome.

12. If something bothers you, speak up ASAP. Not only will you fix the problem sooner, you’ll feel a lot better.

13. Everything you say or do has an impact in one way or another.

14. Tell your family you love them everyday.

15. What happens in Vegas should really, really stay in Vegas.

16. You’re addicted to Facebook. Just accept it.

17. NEVER assume anyone has it easier than you. Everyone is going through something.

18. Entire (delicious) meals can be made in one electric skillet.

19. Sometimes things go wrong.

20. It’s never too late.

21. Not everyone is going to like you, so stop trying so hard.

22. One of the coolest/scariest/most bizarre feelings is seeing yourself in another person.

23. Sing. Doesn’t matter if you’re good or bad. Just sing.

24. Sometimes people need their space. Sometimes people need to be hugged. Knowing the difference is really difficult, but a mark of a true friend.

25. Eat vegetables.

26. Stay up late. The best shit happens past 1 am.

27. When you “people watch,” there are probably people watching you, too.

28. Keys, wallet, cell phone. Make sure you have at least these three things whenever you leave the house. Seriously.

29. You are beautiful.

30. “Life is in the transitions.”

31. Get a whiteboard. Wiping something off a to-do list feels soooooooo good.

32. When you or one of your friends says something really funny, put it on a post-it and stick it to the wall. When you see a note that says “I’m surprised you still have pants on” everyday, it’ll take you right back to that moment where you felt nothing but happy.

33. Talking about your feelings is never an imposition.

34. Lambs are baby sheep. Why I didn’t know that before, I have no idea.

35. Don’t stick with something until you’re unhappy. If it’s not working, fix it or get out.

36. It’s gonna be okay.

Mental Masturbation. NOTE: Clicking will not give you a computer virus.

I talk a lot of shit about my major. I mean, it's pretty easy because I'm surrounded by people who are studying Political Science and biology to become lawyers and doctors, and, well, I read books. I read books to become...someone who reads books.

It's so easy to second guess my major because there's always the question: How does being an English major help other people?

Usually, when faced with this question, I just mumble something unintelligible under my breath and hope the subject changes.

BUT -- today in class, I have come up with a real answer. Well, more of a question really. I'm used to hearing so much about fighting for MY education and MY right to be a part of this university, so why should I be studying just to help OTHER people?

The real question is: How does being an English major help me?

Of course, it's very important to want to contribute to the world and help others, but I really don't think I can effectively help anyone else before I help myself. So, as they always say, there's a time and a place for everything -- and it's called college.

Why not use my major to help me become the best person I can before I make my debut into the big, scary, real world?

So, I came to this mini-revelation today in my American Literature class. We were discussing Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself" and chose to focus on (what else?) the masturbation section.

Your tax dollars at work, people.

We read through it, and my teacher simply asked, "Well, why the hell do you think this section is in here?"

Several people took a crack at it, but I didn't really buy what they were saying. I took a second look at it and a few lines popped out at me (haha innuendo):

"On all sides prurient provokers stiffening my limbs,
Straining the udder of my heart for its withheld drip,
Behaving licentious toward me, taking no denial,
Depriving me of my best as for a purpose,"

Of course there was the initial "tee hee" at stuff like 'stiffening my limbs' and 'drip' (yuk), but if looked at more carefully, this urge doesn't seem to come from within himself. It's as if Whitman is being pushed into this masturbation.

Sketch.

Now, for those of you who really know me, you understand my unhealthy obsession with the movie "Fight Club." No one can forget the scene in which the GORGEOUS Mr. Tyler Durden says: "Self-improvement is masturbation."



The rest of Whitman's poem is centered on developing the self and an individual's creative process, so I raised my hand and said that in this section, Whitman is drawing a clear distinction between self-improvement and self-discovery.

Who or what are these external forces pushing Whitman into masturbation? Who or what is pushing us to constantly try to improve ourselves?

I believe there is something out there (and it may be different for each person) pressuring us to focus solely on self-improvement and completely disregard self-discovery. It's become more about sacrificing who we are in order to fit into a certain ideal as opposed to building a sense of identity based on our own inherent potential.

So I ask, why set ourselves on improving something we haven't yet fully discovered?

Now I have a new goal. Do all I can to discover me before trying to improve me. Who knows? Maybe a lot of the things I'm trying to fix just ain't broke in the first place.

Being an English major may not help cure cancer or land multi-million dollar accounts, but I'll take a new love for myself over the big bucks any day. You may disagree, but there ain't no pockets in the burial shroud, bro.

So take what you want from my annoying little lecture. Discover yourself before trying to change yourself. Masturbate because you want to. Whatevs. Thanks for reading.


Sermon over, Seacrest out.

Spring Break + The Internet = This blog post.

We've had quite a bit of apocalyptic activity these past couple of months.

Devastating earthquakes.

Flocks of birds dropping from the sky.

Rebecca Black.



If there is any sign that there is no longer hope for mankind, it's Rebecca Black. I just watched her "Friday" atrocity for the first time, and I have to say, I fear for our planet. I'm sure everything has been said about this video by now (I'm a little late on the uptake. I haven't been keeping up my "fucking horrible music" playlist lately), but some things are worth saying again.

1. What the hell is this video about? I understand that she enjoys the weekend, but I don't feel like she deserves a break. We saw your schedule for the week, Rebecca. You have a spelling test and maybe a book report, you god damn 4th grader.

2. Her Friday looks like a Wednesday. I'm not saying that you need to get wasted to have a good time, but she does ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. Let's recap.

-Start off the morning by staring into the camera and singing about cereal for 15 seconds.

-Wait by the bus stop but instead hop in a car full of people who probably shouldn't be driving because A) They are most likely 12 years old, or B) They may or may not be brain dead.
...Take the bus, kids. I hear parking is a bitch during recess.

-It's now Friday night and Ms. Black decides to sit next to THE MOST AWKWARD LITTLE GIRL I HAVE EVER SEEN. When she says something like "my friend to my right," please look at who she is willingly bringing attention to. This girl looks like she is going to cry/hurl/faint/shit her pants. You don't have any other less camera shy friends? No? Didn't think so, Rebecca.

-Go to a total rager at so and so's house. Now, when I was younger, we went to all girl sleep overs and hung out at the mall. Why, at that age, would you go to a house party? Oh, sweet. You're surrounded by all your classmates. But you're in a house. At night. Sober. It's like going to school but...less fun.

-Stand up in front of everyone and explain the order of the days of the week. What? People are jumping up and down, and they look like they're enjoying themselves? Ah, you know what? I was wrong.

They're not sober. All these kids are on ecstasy. It's the only way to keep everyone from eviscerating themselves.

3. I would rather go through labor 600 times BACKWARDS than listen to Rebecca Black talk about the days of the week. The only people who would willingly listen to this song are people who literally do not know the days of the week.

So, as I'm sure we all thought at one point or another, I wanted to know just who gave her the opportunity to lay this heaping pile of cow dung on our society.

It was a man named Patrice Wilson. I watched an interview in which this man tries to explain why he began Ark Music Factory, the purpose of pop music, and how he doesn't "charge" his clients for the music videos, but just takes their money.



Patrice: Being black and wearing sunglasses at inappropriate times does not make you a rapper or a record producer. Please. Stop.

OF COURSE, I clicked around and saw what other little treasures Ark Music Factory has created for our hearing pleasure. These kids got some real life problems, man. They've seen some things, man. And some stuff. <-- Family Guy? Anyone?



Don't worry, Alana. That bitchy girl will be pregnant and/or addicted to coke in no time.



I can actually see you reading this blog post right now. Didn't you know? Everytime someone opens their computer, their webcam turns on automatically, revealing their super secret sleep salivation.



Hey Sabrina - what the FUCK are you talking about? At least Rebecca Black was reminding us what comes after Thursday. You're talking about how you're gonna look at yourself in the mirror today. Fascinating.

I only gave you three. I hear if you play more than three of them in a row...the internet dies. It just...dies. And maybe a baby seal or two.

If you read this far or watched ANY of these videos, it's safe to say that you're also at that point in your Spring Break where you are so bored that you'll subject yourself to just about any stimulus just to make sure you're still alive.

I somewhat enjoyed my little adventure through today's pop scene, but I have absolutely no interest in seeing how deep the rabbit hole goes. We have sprung into a new era of very, very young artists and I don't see it ending any time soon.

In the meantime, I gotta go look in the mirror and practice the days of the week. Monday, Tuesday, Saturd--FUCK.

Relationship Status: It's (Pretty Damn) Complicated.

Don't you just LOVE playing the "Catch Up" game? Over the holidays, we come home to hordes of old friends squeezing in lunch dates and happy hours in between family time just to get the skinny on their once-close-but-now-not-so-close friends.

It's actually a very strategic game because in a split second, you're expected to summarize the X number of months/years it's been since you've seen this person, while simultaneously trying to make yourself sound successful AND interesting.

Absolutely exhausting.

BUT -- I've noticed a pattern. The only answer that really matters is the one to everyone's oh so favorite question:

"So, are you dating anyone?"

I honestly feel like I could say that I cured cancer or that I've decided to become a nudist, but the only detail that will really resonate is my relationship status. Now, I've constructed many, many ways to say that I'm single.

1. "I'm not really dating anyone right now. I just want to focus on school and get settled first."

2. "Psh! No boyfriend for me! Too much work!"

3. "I'm just looking for the right guy. I'm ready for something more long term."

Whenever I use #3, I laugh inside because it is just a ridiculous thing to say. Let's face it -- we're all shallow douchebags who don't really know what we SHOULD look for in a mate. We know what we want, but that's rarely what we need in order to foster a healthy and happy relationship.

When we consciously look, we only see what we want to see. Period.

Now, I only mention this because of a text message I received this morning from a very, very confused young man. Let me take you back a couple of weeks...

WAIT. Before that, let me give you an idea of who I am at this point in time.


A Day in the Life of Angeli M. Picardo

8 AM: Wake up. Get ready for school.



12 PM: Eat.




1:30 PM: Study.




3 PM: Study break.



4 PM: Take a nap.




7 PM: Take a really pretty picture of myself.




7:02 PM: Take a nap.



10 PM: A quiet night in. Totally sober. Totally.









In short -- I talk like a sailor, live in a man cave, and I drink almost as much as I sleep.

Ok, back to the story. So I'm walking across campus to the bart station kind of dressed up because I'm meeting some friends in the city. Simple -- jeggings, boots, black sweater. I've got my Target "Play Bans" on and I'm walkin' kinda fast because I am really, really hoping to get something to eat before my train.

So, at this point I'm at a brisk power walk, in my own world debating whether I should get Top Dog or pizza...I remember a cheeseburger sounded really good..

...when suddenly I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and see this young man wearing some baggy jeans, a button down shirt and a backwards cap. Not exactly my "type" but at this point my type was a garlic brat with sauerkraut and extra ketchup...*drool*..

I give a friendly smile to this young gentleman expecting to give him directions or something. He says, "Hey, I just wanted to say that you're really cute. I really like your outfit and I like your vibe."

Legit almost burst out laughing because a few thoughts immediately flooded my mind,

A. You mean my frantic/fucking starving vibe?

B. I have sunglasses on my face. You have no idea if I'm cute or not. I could be a freakin' Yeti under these bad boys.

C. I just remembered that under my boots, I'm wearing turquoise socks with red and yellow marijuana leaves on them.

He continues, "Where are you going? I'm walking in your direction (lie -- definitely walking opposite direction). Can I walk with you?"

At this point, my food fantasy has fallen to pieces so I agree to have a walking buddy. Our conversation is well...I'll let you see for yourself, my inner monologue included.

Him: So, where are you from?

Me: Where do you think I'm from? [This should be interesting.]

Him: Well, by the way you dress and walk, I can tell you're into fashion and you're really edgy. And you really take care of yourself. I see that L.A. vibe from you. You from Hollywood or something?

REMINDER--

^^Edgy.

Me: Ha, no I'm from here. [Oh, you sad, confused person, you.]

Him: That's cool, that's cool. Me too. So, why are you on campus this late? Busy studying for hours, I bet. Let me guess -- you're a business major. No, no. Biology. Maybe pre-med?

Me: [HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHAH] Actually, I'm an English major.

At this point in the conversation, I can't wipe the smile off my face. I think he thought I was just so smitten and taken by his flattery, but in reality, I felt so, so bad for this guy. BRO, YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHO YOU ARE TALKING TO.

L.A.? Fashion? PRE-MED???

This is when I was really convinced that the way we look for a significant other is so, so wrong. People's outward appearances have become mere templates for whatever creative back story/personality someone wants to imagine. I am by no means innocent of this. I see someone 6', clean cut with a nice smile and I automatically think he's my type. He could be dumb as rocks or as interesting as carpet lint, but I'll always somehow convince myself that he is a great guy for me and totally has future aspirations of building schools in Africa or something noble like that.

Bottom line: I shouldn't be looking for the right guy. That's just--as demonstrated by my misinformed admirer--a really bad idea.

This guy saw L.A., edgy, high-fashion.



Reality? Well...



So, the next time you just SEE someone and think "Man, they're totally my type,"

...just remember...

thanks-giving.

Hello friends!

Yes, I'm alive. I may have sold my soul to the University of California, Berkeley, but I'm alive.

So, I believe my last post was right around the time I got accepted to Cal, and I haven't had the time to write since. Whenever I did get some spare time, there were just so many things to say and I didn't know how to say them all.

Recently, I was asked to write a thank you note to the donors who are funding my scholarship. I started writing and it felt like the process I went through with my UC personal statement; it was so clichè and I didn't hear my voice at all. I decided that, at the risk of looking like a horrible way to invest scholarship money, I would write a somewhat unconventional thank you letter that still showed how incredibly thankful I am for their generosity without losing that ever so unique (and ridiculous) Angie touch.

Although the letter was kind of weird, maybe even inappropriate, I don't think I could have been any more honest about how I feel about Cal. So enjoy my first (and depending on the donors' reaction, possibly my last) post as a proud Cal Bear.

------------------

It is needless to say that I love Cal. I love every aspect of the campus, the people, and the culture surrounding this historic university. But my most favorite part of Cal may come as somewhat of a shock. It’s not the campanile; it’s not Sproul Plaza or the Big C. It’s not Oski or Memorial Stadium. It’s the soap dispensers in the bathrooms. More often than not, I am running around campus, my lunch in one hand and a study guide in the other. My nose is either buried in a book or in front of a computer screen, and it feels like the only time my hands aren’t furiously typing or scratching down pages of notes is when I’m washing them. Only when I’m washing my hands am I able to stop and take a break from transcribing information from mind to paper. Every time I reach for the soap and see the blue and gold Cal insignia printed on every dispenser, I am reminded that I go to the #1 public university in the United States. Every time I go to wash my hands, I am reminded that all of my hard work, in addition to your gracious donation, has made my dream of being a Cal Bear a reality. With that thought alone, I am revitalized and ready to take on anything that Cal can throw my way.

It is with your generous donation and noble commitment to education that I have the opportunity to explore the world and everything it has to offer. At UC Berkeley, I have access to some of our nation’s most highly respected scholars, state of the art resources and facilities, and an environment that is conducive to intellectual and personal growth. And your generosity has done far more than just alleviate financial strain on my family. Receiving this scholarship has helped to inspire my family to reach higher and never give up hope because I’ve proven that no dream is unattainable. As a transfer student, doubt and insecurity about one’s future is inevitable. Your kindness has opened the door to my future, and ensured countless opportunities for a lifetime of happiness and success. No amount of “thank you’s” could ever repay you for the incredible, life-changing opportunity you’ve given me. And, most of all, thank you for having faith in me. I promise that not one second I spend at one Cal will be wasted or taken for granted, and I will always be sure to take advantage of the fact that with this incredible education, I will hold the world and my future right in the palm of my (washed and squeaky-clean) hand.

seen and not heard.

Very few of my memories include sound. When I think back to nights in Italy or trips to the beach in high school, I don't recall any particular sounds or voices -- only faces. The best nights (usually the drunken ones) are just a series of silent clips and snapshots.

The other night I went out with some of my friends in the city and thought to myself, "Hey Ange, [yes, I address myself in my thoughts] you should record some of the night on your phone so your drunk ass brain doesn't have to work that hard!"

Genius, right? Well, once again, technology had to shit on my parade. No, not rain. Shit.

The morning after our night of gallivanting, I went to watch the videos and...guess what. NO SOUND.




I was pissed at first but after a while, I kinda liked it. Sound would have almost ruined it. Watching this now, I have no idea what in the world we were talking about, but apparently, it was absolutely HILARIOUS.

This is how I want to remember being 21. Laughter. I don't care what about because in 20 years, it will probably be culturally irrelevant anyways.

I just want to remember that I was on a bus at 2 am with my best friends laughing about something. Anything. Everything.

Da bears.

I saw Toy Story 3 today! Andy goes to college and is starting a new chapter in his life. Perfect movie to see since I'm kind of, you know, moving onto the next big step in my life.



Today, at 9:07 AM, I concluded my community college career.

How do I feel?

I really don't know where to start.

Relieved
Excited
Upset
Indifferent
Thankful
Confused

I thought I'd be more excited/more "fuck you, Foothill"-ish, but to be honest, Foothill has been great to me. A little patience and the greatest support system I could ask for resulted in a full scholarship to UC Berkeley and new perspective on life. After all I've been through, I believe there is no such thing as failure--only opportunity.

Everyday at Foothill College was different. Some days were good; some were bad. All were weird.

It's so hard to explain. Basically, I've been living in a 3-year-long episode of 'Community' only there are like 600 Abeds instead of one.


But, as awkward and sometimes unbearable as it was, I really enjoyed my time at Foothill. I made some great friends (yeah, only took me 3 years), learned how to work the shit outta the education system, and found out that I'm not as inadequate as I thought :)

All in all, I found myself at Foothill. I know who I am, I have a general idea as to who I want to be, and, although I still don't know exactly how to get there, I've definitely improved my sense of direction.

A few words of advice for anyone out there considering community college:

DO IT. It'll be one of the best decisions you'll make in your life. Not only will you save money, but you'll get teachers who are there because they love to teach and you will learn a whole lot about yourself. Only you can get yourself through JC. Hard work, but the payoff is priceless.



So now I move onto UC Berkeley. Ha! Can you believe that? I still don't.

Thanks, Foothill :)

Next stop, COLLEGE.

Today is the day--"Doom's Day" as my friend Brittany likes to call it.

Today at 4 pm, I will know where I am going to college. I've spent every day for the past three years dreaming of this moment and it's finally here. But I don't see this as crossing the finish; I see it as toeing the starting line.

This round of decision letters is just as nerve-racking as the one 3 years ago, but the circumstances are definitely a little different. Three years ago, my entire future relied on one little envelope from Santa Clara University (or so I thought). In April of 2010, I am caught between two of the best universities in the United States. But, really, the biggest question here is...HOW THE FUCK DID I GET HERE?!!?

As I may have mentioned (whined about) at some point in this blog, I was rejected by pretty much everyone right out of high school. My grades sucked, I wrote my essays in a day and I basically picked my colleges out of a hat.

Recipe for success? Not so much.

I didn't respect the process, so it didn't respect me. This year, with the help of SO MANY PEOPLE, I learned to respect the process and, in turn, learned to respect myself. Three years ago, I never thought I'd even get the chance to think, "Yeah, I'll most likely get into UCLA." Today I'm waiting on Berkeley.

No, seriously. I'm waiting to see if UC Berkeley is taking me.

As crazy as it sounds, it doesn't really feel like I'm chasing a dream. All the people that have helped me along the way (special shout out to Bev, Jake and Luis!) have done more than just proofread my essays--they've made me believe that colleges would be LUCKY to have me.

*cue sappy music* tears, tears, tears.

Ok, we're back. In all seriousness, I would not have this level of confidence if it wasn't for the unconditional love and support I've received from my friends and my family. Of course my dad was TERRIFIED when I said I'd be going to community college. All I could do was ask him to trust me and let me figure this out on my own. An acceptance from UCLA, UC San Diego and 2 (maybe 5...we'll see in a few weeks) scholarships later, I think he made the right decision.

So, as I was perusing (scrambling) around the internet this morning looking for Berkeley decision news, I found this article. The title may seem a little morbid (not the word I'm looking for?) on a decision day like this, but it pretty much sums up my mentality for the past 3 years.

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704211704575139891390595962.html

A line in the article from Columbia University President Lee Bollinger could inspire more than just college students:

"His advice: Don't let rejections control your life. To 'allow other people's assessment of you to determine your own self-assessment is a very big mistake...The question really is, who at the end of the day is going to make the determination about what your talents are, and what your interests are? That has to be you."

As a high school senior, I let little pieces of paper determine my self-worth. I was a misled and really, really stupid 18-year-old kid pretending to actually want something for my life. Now, I'm a 21-year-old woman ready to embark on the next step/adventure in life. All I can say is thank you to everyone who has supported me, thanks to all the haters who have fueled the fire, and thank you, self, for finally deciding to sack up and take control of your life.

No matter what goes down at 4 pm, there's gonna be a celebration tonight.

Empire State of Mind

Hey, did I tell you about the time I turned 21?

Ah, it was a simpler time...two weeks ago...

For the third year running, I spent my birthday in Noo Yawk Sitty. Actually, when I think about it, my birthday festivities started over 3 months ago. My sister surprised my brother and I with plane tickets to New York because 1. She's BAAAAALLLLLIIIIINNNN' and 2. She wants a reason to do tourist things without looking like a crazy lady.

Now, as much as I would love to describe my entire trip, I have a biology deadline that is going to expire in...4 minutes ago. Shit.

Ok, then that frees up a little time. I'll give ya'll the SportsCenter version (highlights for those of you televisionally challenged).

Monday, March 29:
-Arrive in New York at 10 pm

People at the Frontier Airlines front desk =


Tuesday, March 30:
-Rain. That's about it. Oh, and we got drunk by accident. Wtf?
-Oh! And visited the BBC America offices which used to be the Playboy Offices. When you walk in the revolving door, there's a statue of a naked lady. Hard to explain. Hilarious to experience.

Shout out to all of my sister's wonderful co-workers! Thank you for letting me bring my smelly rain boots into your office. Who doesn't love the smell of wet rubber?

Wednesday, March 31:
-Paolo arrives and we go to dinner at the hipster nest where the hipster queen lays her hipster eggs. There was an abundance of Ray Ban glasses and irony. Soooooo ironic. Food was legit though. Worth the hour and a half wait. Mind you, an hour and a half surrounded by hipsters and a man with a pony tail whom my brother appropriately nicknamed "Mulan" is equal to about 6 years.

Thursday, April 1:
-Visited the Intrepid and saw some sick planes. Here are my brother and sister touching things they're not supposed to:



Friday, April 2:
-MY BIRTDAY! So, this is the most important day. Obvs.
-Started the day off with a helicopter ride. THAT'S RIGHT. A helicopter ride. Ch-ch-check it out.



-Then we went to the Tim Burton exhibit at the MoMa. LEGIT.



-Just when you think the fun was over...




LION KING ON BROADWAY. Elephants, giraffes, Rafiki. It all happened.

-Then we ended the night at Brooklyn Bowl, a bar/concert venue/bowling alley. Our friends all gathered for bowling, drinks and something called disco fries. Yeah, I don't know.



I bowled a 152 *flex* NBD.

Saturday, April 3:
-Took a train to Flushing to watch Jake cross the finish line. I still regret not bringing the cow bell....
-Reloaded Jake's carbs with some Dim Sum. At one point, we had to download the dim sum app on the iPhone. We don't mess around.
-After a failed attempt at a power nap, we were off to Accomplice. Now, Accomplice said it was coming to San Francisco soon so I won't give up any details. Pretty much, it's a scavenger hunt in the city. There are actors planted all over, but it's the group's job to identify who's an actor and who isn't. So awesome.

We had to give a frog to a construction worker who put it in a lunch box behind some garbage cans. Yes.

Sunday, April 4:
-Fly back to Cali...Well, try anyways.

"We will be departing at 12:35 pm."

2 minutes later...

"New departure time is 1:40 pm."

1/2 hour later..

"We will be departing at 1 pm."

Half of the passengers have boarded, people still waiting to board at the gate...

"Everyone please stop boarding. We will be departing at 3:30 pm."

Literally RIGHT AFTER the last person gets off the plane and back in the waiting area..

"Oh, nevermind. We're leaving now."

New Slogan: "Frontier Air. Yeah, we don't really know either."

Overall, it was OBVS a fantastic trip and it was all thanks to my sister, Superwoman. She somehow got work done while still being a tourist with us. I don't think there is anyway I could repay her for making my 21st birthday so awesome. I wonder if you can buy sleep. I think I remember her saying she was running low...

"For this to never end."

When people check out my room for the first time, they always mention, "Hey, your calendar is a little off. It's not April 2008."

Well, I wish it was.

Two years ago, I was just a kid whose life plans had been shattered by a plethora of college rejection letters. Today, I am a 21 year old woman who now understands that plans change and your life is what you make of it, not what you hope for it.

In April 2008, I left for a little place called Florence, Italy.

Now as much as I absolutely loved Italy and its incredible food, art, and landscapes, the country itself isn't what changed me; it was the absolutely amazing, crazy, sometimes frustrating but always lovable group of alcoholics formally known as The Firenze Crew.

Now, I have to be honest. I was a little skeptical about them at first. I walked into our first information meeting in the KCI and, well, I judged. I vividly remember seeing Michelle, Nicole, Jamie. I remember HEARING Alisa :) I remember bits and pieces of the conversation:

Voltaire: (raises his hand) Um, is there a gym near our apartments where we can get a temporary membership?

Gilmar: (whispering to Steve) Uh, it's called push-ups, bro.

Oh, Gilmar. So kind. So understanding.

If you had told me that the people in that meeting were going to change my life, I wouldn't believe a word. But today, I call them some of my best friends. My brothers and sisters. My Firenze family.

I wrote something at the end of the trip because I wanted to remember who I was at that exact moment in time. I wanted to have something to read to my grandchild who may be considering studying abroad. I wanted to have something to remind me that I am blessed. Truly, truly blessed.

It was supposed to be a personal journal entry, but with some advice/peer pressure, I read it out loud. At a bar. Story of my life.

Well, here it is. After reading it again I noticed that I write weird. Not that well. I like commas.

I share this with the world to mark the 2nd anniversary of our trip. To my Firenze family--I love you guys and miss you everyday. Thank you for showing me how to love.



"I'm still awake from the night before and it's not the insomnia. We just concluded a night of beer pong, baseball, and of course, kebap. Just another day at the office. Steve just left in time to beat the sunrise. I'm wide awake and I have two things on my mind: how lucky I feel to be here in Florence and that I probably shouldn't have gotten doo doo butter on that kebap. So, as I popped a couple Immodium as to not anger the beast that is my digestive system, I reflected on the past six months and my remaining 5 days here in Florence. I could say that this has been the best trip of my life a million times and it would never match what I feel inside. But no words or explanations are necessary. I can simply look into each person's eyes and see every moment and every memory I have have with you. I see everything I want to be and everything I will take with me for the rest of my life. I'd look up at you guys now but I'd burst into tears not out of sadness or regret, but out of sheer happiness for how blessed I have been to have this opportunity. But I don't need to look up to feel you there, to know you're with me. I can close my eyes and visualize every single one of you. I see...

...a girl with a video camera capturing some awesome and, at the same time, not so flattering footage, all of which she will never show us (Chi)

...a girl of experience and pure emotion who may be afraid of pigeons, but not of anything else that life throws her way (Tina)

...a guy who has had MAYBE a pint of beer this entire trip but somehow has coined a term insinuating completely inappropriate, public drunkenness (Randall)

...a dancer in white pants and a nose ring whose booty shake could put Shakira to shame (Dennis)

...a chick with her hair in a poof, neck wrapped in a scarf, and 6 million Polish friends to party with (Vivian)

...a roommate who accepts me for my culinary retardation and makes me scrambled eggs each morning (Karla)

...a USC drama major who is visibly sweet and amazing when she gets a hold of that volume knob (Alisa)

...a history master who told me the origins of the middle finger--single handedly the most important piece of history I have ever learned...sorry Dolores (Christina)

...an incredible breakdancer who I love like a brother and who knows how to use his head in more ways than one (Danny)

...a girl who single handedly changed my perception of all Notre Dame girls with her calming, relaxed disposition and sick taste in shoes (Steph)

...a sleepy Korean who is always down to piece a cigarette and share a story (Michelle)

...a bubbly Filipino boy's full smile, heart of gold, and all too familiar bare ass (Voltaire)

...my Japanese sister who just agrees with everything I say because I use too much slang.. I tedaki mas (Rieko)

...a girl who, although she can deliver a mean pelvic thrust, displays the hilarious, kind, and reassuring soul that I have needed so badly in my life (Kyla)

...the beer pong queen who is like my carbon copy except with a little extra badunk (Jamie)

...my Peruvian principese, the original cha le, whose passion for soccer is only rivaled by his love for Karen (Gilmar)

...the only salad fingers that could complete my diamond in the sky (Nicole)

...a feisty brunette who would make the Medidididididci family proud (Sara)

...a matching turquoise Firenze bracelet that only cost a Euro but symbolizes a priceless relationship that has changed my life forever (Katie)

...my brother from another mother, cha le #2, who I've shared many a sunrise with, who I trust with my life, and would never be the same without (Steve)

...our favorite Chinese teacher/tourist who takes so many pictures that Martha King called her out. She is beautiful, intelligent, and has the most sincere passion for the world, her work, and, especially, her loved ones (Karen)

...and our fearless momma bear who wants to hug us and wring our necks all at the same time. A woman who knows she's fierce and applies it to every aspect of her being. The intensity of her dominating intellect and distinctive personality are only rivaled by her imperious lesbian strength (Dolores)

This trip has, to say the least, been life changing. Sometimes we come to a point in our lives where we feel out of control. Helpless. All we want to do is run. I believe that we are all running in a sense. Running from parents, work, monotony. For each of us, Florence has a different meaning. We, by fate not by chance, all ran to the same place.

So as I sit here, with my eyes closed, stomach still audibly churning, I realize that for me, Florence means love. Not just romantic love but many forms of love that we, unfortunately, overlook back in the states. I have, first of all, learned to love myself. Through this experience, I realized that my life is freaking awesome. Each morning I see myself in the mirror and see that I wouldn't want to be anyone else but me, and it took a trip halfway around the world to see that.

But the only way I could love myself is because of the love I received from all of you. It is through your example that I have learned to love the right people with all my heart. On this trip, I've learned to love others not only for their actions or their kindness, but for their intentions. All of you have earned my respect, my love, and my trust. No amount of awards or honors could make me feel as blessed and accomplished as being on this trip with all of you. Nothing has meant more to me than the long talks on the train, the 3 am kebap runs, cooking dinner with my roomies and friends, our spot by the Arno, sharing a drink with my professors, and lying back remembering I am a young study abroad student living my life the way I should: free, spontaneous and with people who make me love myself and enourage me to take chances. Someone once told me that it isn't the path you're taking, but the person you're becoming. There is no right or wrong way to live your life. It's about being with people you love and doing what is best for you with no hesitation.

You are all a part of me. You make me whole. You make me complete. You cannot be replaced, no one can compare. Good times and bad, I will carry them with me always. You all have made me the person I am today and all I can say is thank you. Thank you for understanding, for sharing, for being who you are. It is through all of you that I have found my path. It is in each of you that I find what I have been looking for: true happiness. Here I am happy. With you, right here, I am happy. So to all of you, my family, live free, talk slow, love often, and know that you will all forever be in my heart. For this to never end. I love you all. Firenze forever, and ever."

...7 Days...

I haven't been blogging because my weekly schedule has looked like this:

Yes, I color code my sadness.

Top 5 Reasons My Life is So HARD:

5. Facebook
4. Stumbleupon
3. Melissa McMahon
2. Facebook, again


and the number one reason I have more schoolwork than eyelashes:

I HAVE CHECKED THE F*CK OUT.

I am so close to the end, but so, SO far away. I mean, you see the picture of my schedule. I have SO much to do right now BUT IM BLOGGING.

Someone...PLEASE remind me why I get up in the morning...

Inspurayshun.

In a previous post, I mentioned having a hard time finding my "voice" in my writing. Now that college app season is over (YYYYEEESSSSSSSDjflakjf;aldsjf;lskfj239489304tiojfi;elfjw!1111!!!!!!!), it's back to academic writing for now.

Well, it seems I've hit yet another bump in the road with my writing. The other day, I was asked to write a response to a short story and I had no idea what to write. I didn't feel anything. In my college essays, I was able to write what I think, but I forgot what it was like to write what I feel.

Once again, I tried digging up a previous assignment for some inspiration.

Success!

I wrote this little thing for my African American lit class (random, I know). The assignment was to respond to a Langston Hughes poem. I remember writing it and pouring myself onto the page. I wrote about something so ridiculous and not really all that serious, but I knew exactly what I wanted to say. Anyways, here it is. This is me...feeling.


“Spring For Lovers”


Desire weaves its fantasy of dreams,

And all the world becomes a garden close

In which we wander, you and I together,

Believing in the symbol of the rose,

Believing only in the heart’s bright flower—

Forgetting—flowers whither in an hour.



Recently, the bug that is innocent, young love has bitten me, and hard. I have developed an unexpected crush on a boy, but our complicated situation makes it difficult for the relationship to become anything but a crush. Only the cruel nature of love could create a situation as sweet but utterly infuriating as ours.

So, this boy and I have an interesting relationship in that it lasts only twenty minutes at a time, three times a week. Although it seems short, I don’t think my heart could take a second more. After class, he goes out of his way to escort me to my next destination, whether it is next door or across campus. We trade small talk for a minute or two, asking of plans for the weekend or an interest of the day. We intend to chat for only a minute more, but twenty minutes effortlessly passes as we venture deeper into conversation, exploring each other’s likes and dislikes, hopes and dreams. Only occasionally do our eyes meet seeing that the intensity of my admiration advises me to keep from getting lost in his gaze for fear of never returning to reality. In normal circumstances, I generally find myself to be fairly eloquent and hardly soft-spoken, but in his presence, my search for vocal perfection only results in stuttering confusion, or, as I like to call it, word vomit. After I am finished making a fool of myself and other engagements demand our time, we part ways in a simple, but sweet “See you later.” A twenty-minute date, three times a week.

As I scanned Langston Hughes’ collection of poems, I came across “Spring for Lovers” and saw myself on the page. As a poetry fanatic, it is only natural that I am a hopeless romantic. Hughes managed to capture the very essence of my vexation so closely that I was almost embarrassed, as if he was mocking me, personally. I often find myself smiling like a fool as my mind and “desire weaves its fantasy of dreams,” of imperishable happiness and satisfaction. The trail from one classroom to another becomes our garden of serenity where we may travel together, only fueling the emotion.

But, despite the title of the poem, spring means the end of love. Our only connection is in our short strolls, therefore making the end of the quarter the abrupt, and heart-wrenching halt to our twelve weeks of fantasy. This boy’s only apparent flaw, so far, is that he is too much of a chicken sh*t to make a move (pardon the language, it’s the frustration of love). If one were to observe our banter and undeniable chemistry, it is obvious that there is something between us worth exploring, but his coy nature always gets the best of him. Hughes explains that in the midst of love, one may be caught up in “the symbol of the rose…/Forgetting—flowers whither in an hour.” Our time together is ticking because the relationship has been left unattended, only hoping for the best. A freshly cut flower will only whither so quickly if left without attention and care. In our relationship, inaction will only leave one (me) fragmented and depressed.

Langston, you got me. This poem has spelled out the destiny for this relationship if this shyness continues. I could heed this as a warning if I let the opportunity pass or I could accept the fact that some love is temporary and may diminish even before it has begun. Either way, Hughes’ literary genius will forever illustrate the frustration, ambiguity, and bliss of the twenty-minute dates that made the other twenty-three hours and forty minutes worth living.

Way to reach your target audience, facebook.

Hey, stranger. Long time no see..

Here's the top 10 things that have made me happy recently:

1. The movie "Up." I was crying in the first 7 minutes but was so happy at the same time. Who knew old, cartoon people would bring me to tears?

2.
The inflatable BBC America chair my sister got me for Christmas. My room always smells like plastic, but everytime I see it, I feel like a portable Austin Powers.

3. Stumbleupon.com. Visit this website and you can say goodbye to the next 4 hours.

4. I have been watching cartoons from my childhood on youtube, including Rocko's Modern Life, Doug, Rugrats, and tons of Road Runner cartoons. Youtube may quite possibly be one of the most amazing invention ever created. How else would I be able to re-live Chuckie's fear of the sky falling or Doug's creepy obsession with Patty Mayonnaise? But it's also a little sad that now I find some homo-erotic tension between Rocko and Heffer. Ah, what my brain has become...

5. The other day at school, I was walking across campus and I said hello to 4 people. FOUR PEOPLE!!! Took me three years to have friends at school. Man, so after this school year I wont have friends til...2013?!? Yet another step to becoming a crazy cat lady (see #8).

6. Melissa Beth McMahon-Cottle (I've decided to hyphenate your name for you). I see her everyday in my 8 AM classes and, to be honest, I don't know if my attendance would be as good if she weren't there. I start my day with a smile because of her and her loud, random, sometimes borderline flirtatious (not with me, HA) craziness. And I thought I'd include her because she is one of the 3.2 people who read this blog. That I know of...give or take 0.4 people.

7. I GET TO GO ON A HELICOPTER FOR MY BIRTHDAY! The only thing more fun than being on a helicopter is being on a waverunner (Daniel Tosh? Anyone?).

8. This picture.

9. http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/2zIYgS/www.jacksonpollock.org/

Click to change colors. I was in black and white for 15 minutes.

10. I'm happy that I have a list of things that make me happy. Everyone should think about at least one thing a day that makes them happy. Even if you list the same thing everyday or if it's something as simple as getting a hug, remind yourself that being happy is important.


:)


Donate to Haiti!

Hwite Christmas.

So, my brother and I always complain about how we have to take goofy ass pictures on family trips. We always have to stand awkwardly, pretending like we love each other. The pictures usually turn out like this:



Can you feel the love?

But for this family trip, bro-seidon and I decided to humor our parents because they sacrificed a lot so that we could take this trip to Tahoe.



We realize that our family trips are just as much, if not more, fun for them just because they miss the good ol' days when we were so young that even just getting in the car was fun. Now our family trips are plagued by my incurable motion sickness, my brother's incessant text messaging, my dad's need to sing Christian music for 5 hours straight, and my mom's claims that she would have rather stayed home and watched Filipino tv. Family vacations Picardo style.



What my brother and I didn't expect was to actually enjoy our parents' company on this trip.

Definite WTF moment here:




My mom probably made an inappropriate joke about...well, anything.

During the day, we split up so the chillun could go snowboarding and Bennifer (my parents are literally named Ben and Jennifer) could gamble my college fund away.

Snowboarding was sick because we basically had the mountain to ourselves. We even had some room to get a little extreme.



Chaos, I tell you.

We reunited around 5 and decided to cook dinner in our room. We stayed at Northstar, paid $255 for a 4 person room AND got two free lift tickets with access to the priority lift line. WHA WHAAAAAAAA.

After a wonderful steak dinner in front of the tv watching Dirty Jobs, we left to go ice skate in the Village. Of course, it closed .015 seconds before we got there so we went to Plan B: DRINK. Again, family vacations Picardo style. We found a nice little Jazz spot that had awesome live music, good dessert, and sold me alcohol. I effectively got wasted because I guess the altitude makes a difference? Whatever. If only it took me one drink to get wasted all the time...



FREAKING adorable.

Overall, good trip. My mom lost $100 and my dad won $150 gambling, so we are in the positive. I still have both of my legs and my brother's snow crave has been relieved for the time being. Good trip.