BLUSHING's Xanga

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Tue, 23 Oct 2007 15:27:19 GMT

Dating Rules

Question:
Your absolutely smitten over your significant other.
They're smart.
They're great looking.
You can actually see and hear the *ting* when they smile.

You think they're too good for you ... does that constitute as a FAIR and VALID reason to break up with them?

Saturday, June 23, 2007

Sat, 23 Jun 2007 06:08:21 GMT

Yumi & Simon ... Sitting In A Tree

Pictures can't even do justice to how beautiful this wedding truly was. Especially mine.. because I only took a few, and very pointless ones at that.
* Congratulations Yumi & Simon Shim *

Saturday, November 25, 2006

Sat, 25 Nov 2006 20:47:38 GMT

Damn You XBox
For the past hour now I've been staring wide-eyed at the big screen, letting the sound of machine guns pulsate against my eardrums and grunting men swarm into my ears. There's a sadistic pleasure in watching my boyfriend tear through a creature with a chainsaw while the blood splatters against the screen. And all I can think is "ugh damnit, how is he going to be able to see the next guy to kill." My teeth clench in excitement with every headless body that falls to its cement grave as the head rolls off to some unknown perimeter.

"Babe, we need to have a serious talk. I did something today that may ruin our relationship." Now J and I have been dating two months and nothing in his actions have ever made me feel as if I had to worry about him being unfaithful. But then again... it's only been two months. I held my breath...

"I went out today ... and bought an Xbox 360."

Translation: Because I bought this kick ass console, it will probably be consuming every conscious breath that I take for the next month. Don't blame me if I don't call, see you, or even remember your name. If I don't even acknowledge your presence but instead you noticed that I haven't blinked in the past hour or so, blame it on the genuis game designers that I now worship. I am just one of many who have fallen victim to the greatness of GEARS OF WAR.

"So even though I may not be paying attention to you. Just remember that I care about you a lot. A lot a lot." So it's only Day 1 since he's had it. It's 3 am and I haven't seen him get up once and he's still in his work uniform. Entirely its not so bad. I know how addicting video games can get. I'm entranced myself. It's like watching a movie. Music accompianment sounds like a movie soundtrack, narrative dialogue isn't close to being cheesy. And like I said, its just hot seeing my boyfriend use that chainsaw.

Sunday, August 27, 2006

Sun, 27 Aug 2006 02:23:14 GMT

Homeless Thought #2
[Union Station; Chicago, IL]
(Part 1: sorry this story is really choppy and the order kind of hard to follow, but I forgot a lot of what happened and when.)

This was the closest thing I ever had to a personal assistant. Conlay Johnson was carrying my duffel bag all around Union Station telling people to move out of the way so that I wouldn’t have to dodge them as I walked past. It might have looked impressive if he was clad in a black suit, dark sunglasses, and earpiece, with four other men following, donned in the same attire. But that’s me dreaming. Instead, passerby’s held their breath, mothers grabbed for their children’s hands in fear, and others bustled past with indifference.

From what I knew thus far, Conlay Johnson loved strawberry sundaes from McDonalds (he already had one at my expense for his troubles), couldn’t eat nuts because he was missing a large number of teeth, had a few great love stories, and was originally from South Carolina. We first met and spoke two hours earlier on a bench outside Union Station. A yuppie nearby was checking his watch, took one last drag off his square, and darted back into the station while his cigarette was flicked into my direction. A man started a half-step run towards it, snatched it up, and blew off the street debris. He then turned to me, “Excuse me miss, do you have a light?” Apparently this man didn’t let things go to waste. Even discarded butts.

.....

My train had arrived coming from Michigan at 11:00 that morning. I had tried calling E (my ride) three times already but it kept going straight to voicemail. He was now 45 minutes late. During those 45 lost minutes, I had walked the perimeter of the station twice, zig-zagged my way through all the stairs, halls, and exits, while awkwardly balancing on heels with an overstuffed duffel bag digging into my shoulder. I was completely thorough in making sure that he wasn’t waiting for me elsewhere. I called Becca to see if maybe she could pick me up. But she was working a double and wouldn’t get off till around 10ish that night. My last and only option was to wait. So the outside bench became my companion for a good part of the day.

.....

“Yeah, hang on.” I fumbled around in my purse until I felt the slim plastic contours of a lighter. As he was lighting his newly found treasure, he introduced himself as Conlay Johnson but preferred to go by CJ. His name was new to me but his face wasn’t. Out of boredom from waiting, I had been people watching for the past hour and he had been outside the whole time. He was really working it. Flashing big smiles, opening doors, reciting warm greetings to anyone who passed by. All the while his hand held out welcoming any tokens of appreciation. A forgotten, or even rejected, member of society; Conlay Johnson was a homeless man.

After a trail of smoke curled from his thick cracked lips, a trail of questions followed soon after.

“Would you like a hit?”
“Who you waitin’ for?”
“I noticed you’ve been here a long long time.”
“Is it y our boyfriend? Cuz you sure is cute.”
“Ain’t you cold?”
“Where’d you come from?”
“Man that’s wack! Makin’ you wait.”

He was kind and respectful, repeatedly made sure that he wasn’t bothering me. I took him up on his offer to keep me company until my ride came (and I prayed soon). So what the hell, what else was I going to do?” And I’d be safe, he couldn’t do anything to me while in public.

Right?

-tbc-

Friday, August 04, 2006

Fri, 04 Aug 2006 14:06:17 GMT

Echo. My voice is an echo.
Of places I don’t know, in stories that have been told.
Echo. We are all connected.
A lighthouse of voyage, for histories saved.

- The Hush Sound

About Nothing
Being a smoker once myself, I’m surprised to be annoyed by the cloud of suffocating stench that I’m enveloped in right now. Only I, and one other stand to be nicotine-free, and we happen to be sitting back to back fending for ourselves. Currently he’s absorbed into a paper that he has written himself, possibly about nuclear fission and his plan to take over the world. Top secret stuff that causes him to keep his nose a millimeter apart from the paper. Red Xs, dashes, and scribbles march down the page ravaging everything in sight, no “buts” or “ifs” spared. (Ah, he’s German! Maybe I’m onto something.)

I’m melting through my chair, faster than the cubes in my mango iced tea, but I refuse to stay put behind closed doors. It’s probably the dank black cave of Hollister that gives me this adverse effect to the great air-conditioned indoors. Coming out of that store is like a bear awakening from hibernation. Everything is so dim that it has a tranquilizing effect, makes you slow and sleepy. Once I step outside the mall sliding doors, I immediately need to shield my eyes from the sun. Whereas anyone else who works in a decently lit environment is already well adjusted to the normal daylight.

Anyway. Now sitting to the right of me is a metro-ish man so fidgety, I wonder why he even needs coffee. After his third cigarette, he finally calms himself into a trance by staring off into the dizzying maze of sunlit leaves from the tree above. Hehehehehehee. I can’t help but giggle now because his hand has occupied itself with his moustache. With a finger on each side, he’s massaging in small circular movements, I can imagine him shampooing it in this manner. Thus, the giggling from this silly mental picture. (Damn it, he caught me looking.)

I hear the constant flicking of an exhausted lighter. It’s in the hands of an idly awaiting pyromaniac trying to put a plastic cup to its death. This would be one table over to my left from moustache man, with an audience of three others. With the four of them combined, seventeen cigarettes later… topics have ranged from “How gay would it be if Green Day went country” to “Dae~~Oh~. Yes the lion is sleeping, in the jungle. Don’t
forget, it’s the mighty jungle.”. My face started to hurt from being twisted up by confusion. All throughout, the flicking never ceased.

So I’m people watching, maybe they’re watching me. They’re probably wondering what I find so deliciously appetizing about pen caps. I’ve made myself at home sprawled out over two chairs, shaking my legs to “The Hush Sound,” the contents of my “luggage” littering the table: three books, wallet, dental floss, loose papers, and mints among other things. Moustache man and I just exchanged smiles. On this café front, among the eight other smokers with a plethora of lighters, only he has been asked for the use of his, three times in the past 20 minutes. We both recognized this pointless hilarity.

It’s nice to have a shared moment with a complete stranger. You manage to wiggle your way into someone’s life, even if it is to be a brief, soon to be forgotten, memory. There are moments, even seconds, when we mistake randomness for significance, and vice versa. Ever feel an instant electric-like connection between eye contact of someone walking by that you’ve never spoken to in your life? Or you keep seeing the very same car with the stupid hood ornament at the same random joints you go?

Before I made my way to the coffee shop, I stopped by Barnes & Noble to visit my favorite section of the store, children’s books! I only first noticed this one guy because of his extremely orange shirt. He was perusing through the magical world of Narnia right in front of the shelf of my beloved Roald Dahl. He looked like the gamer type that you would see at Fragg’s playing War Craft, or some role-playing game, as if it were a sin not to. We kept running into each other as we circled the displays of Charlie Bone and Captain Underpants. Later I am heading towards the back to the restrooms and he happens to have been called to the same duty as well. We both come out at the same time. We check out at the same time. Then after a quick bike ride to Expresso Royale and 20 minutes of reading, the only other non-smoker sitting behind me, working on his paper to take over the world? That’s right. Extreme Orange.
ß
There are subtle signs and connections everywhere, whether they mean anything we’ll never know, but we make it out to mean as much as we want it to mean. I couldn’t help but think that Extreme Orange and I had a purpose for our constant run-ins. Through the three hours at the café, words were never exchanged. Oh well, the mystery was fun while it lasted.

But sometimes, one word, smile, or small gesture, may start something completely unexpected. Like the day in Chicago at Central Station… I met Conlay Johnson.

-tbc-

"The Man Behind Abercrombie & Fitch"

Mon, 06 Mar 2006 02:58:57 GMT

This Is My Boss
I wanted to find out more about this President that I worked 17 straight hours in a day for, for the mere fact that he MAY stop by.

Mike Jeffries turned a moribund company into a multibillion-dollar brand by selling youth, sex and casual superiority. Not bad for a 61-year-old in flip-flops.

Mike Jeffries, the 61-year-old CEO of Abercrombie & Fitch, says "dude" a lot. He'll say, "What a cool idea, dude," or, when the jeans on a store's mannequin are too thin in the calves, "Let's make this dude look more like a dude," or, when I ask him why he dyes his hair blond, "Dude, I'm not an old fart who wears his jeans up at his shoulders."

This fall, on my second day at Abercrombie & Fitch's 300-acre headquarters in the Ohio woods, Jeffries -- sporting torn Abercrombie jeans, a blue Abercrombie muscle polo, and Abercrombie flip-flops -- stood behind me in the cafeteria line and said, "You're looking really A&F today, dude." (An enormous steel-clad barn with laminated wood accents, the cafeteria feels like an Olympic Village dining hall in the Swiss Alps.) I didn't have the heart to tell Jeffries that I was actually wearing American Eagle jeans. To Jeffries, the "A&F guy" is the best of what America has to offer: He's cool, he's beautiful, he's funny, he's masculine, he's optimistic, and he's certainly not "cynical" or "moody," two traits he finds wholly unattractive.

The Morning After

Tue, 21 Feb 2006 23:15:48 GMT

The last tangible memory I have of him is this $40 parking ticket
It was another morning after a drunk night and spending it at HIS place. I knew he wouldn't call but I willingly laid in his arms all night and morning having the same conversation, almost word for word, of why we wouldn't work. I thought, "he must be so sick of this, but then why does he hold me with all the care in the world." I guess it's just one of those many charming qualities that men possess. The bright whiteness of the snow cleared my head from my sleepy daze as I stepped out from his house. The chilly air made an obvious contrast from the warmth of his gaze and bed that I was just in, to my freezing ass car that would be taking me away further from HIM. Quickly I dismissed any longing feelings or possible hopes. I glanced back for a quick second and wondered if he was watching me go. Probably not, this isn't a damn romance movie! Besides this scene was all too familiar and happened one too many times. Drunk night, see each other, can't be away from each other, spend the night, then nothing.

Randomness: Whenever I hear snow crunching beneath my shoes, no matter how low I feel, I can't help but smile. So by the time I walked across his snow covered lawn and saw the ticket in my car door, I couldn't even be mad. I expected it would happen. I expected I wouldn't hear from him.. so I couldn't even be mad.

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

Wed, 02 Nov 2005 04:42:22 GMT

Words To My Newly Wed Sister
Congratulations to Jinar and Frank. My heart is filled with love for the both of you today. I know you have a wonderful adventure ahead of you, and with God’s blessing your marriage will last for decades to come.

When I look at the two of them I feel a flood of emotions. I’m happy that my sister has found her perfect match to spend the rest of her life with, but also jealous because Frank is stealing her from me. But I guess you can’t keep someone so great like my sister a secret for too long. I never knew Frank before he met Jinar, so I can’t tell you any exciting or horrible stories about him, but I can tell you that he is a great for her. He’s laid back, easy to talk to, and has a great sense of humor, he even makes these great impersonations of my sister when she starts to get mad. To Frank, we are very happy to welcome him into our family.

And to my sister, unnie, you look absolutely stunning. I can only hope that I will look as beautiful as you do on my wedding day. You give true meaning to how special it is to have a big sister. I would have to say that my sister and I have an unusual relationship, and I say that because, in a usual sibling relationship there is that sibling rivalry. The fighting, screaming & pulling hair… needing more attention than the other… But for as far back as I can remember, we’ve never fought, she’s never teased me, and we were always best friends. And even like a second mother. For ANYTHING at all, I’d always go to her first before I went to mom and dad. Even today, whenever I ask mom for permission, she would always say, “ Go ask your sister.”

When I started kindergarten, my sister was in junior high. When I entered my high school days, she had already gone through college and was setting off on finding a career. And now that I’ve finally graduated, she’s onto the next stage of her life getting married and securing the rest of her future. Jinar being eight years older than I am, she always had the advantage of being a few great steps ahead of me. That posed a few problems, more money, more experience, and LOTS of seniority. As my older sister she has a lot of power over me, AND she got to be the first to do anything. The first to get a boyfriend, first to graduate, first to get a new car, and first to get a job and make mama proud. I got the hand-me-downs and for the longest time my actual name was “Jinar’s little sister.” But who do you think was always there to hold my hand while walking through scary haunted houses or to roll on the floor dying from laughter when I got a bad haircut. She always had the perfect words to say when there were tears and the most helpful advice when I was nervous before every new stage of my life. So maybe being second isn’t so bad after all… because at least I’m being loved by and learning from the very best.

But tonight, I finally get to do something first. And that is to toast to my sister on this very special day. So now if you would all raise your glasses, I would like to make a toast to the newlyweds. My wishes for Jinar and Frank are that they have a continued loving friendship and partnership, that they enjoy success and laughter, that they are blessed with children, and that they always see and talk with their hearts. My greatest wish for the two of you is that through the years your love for each other will deepen and grow. Years from now, may you look back on this day, your wedding day, as the day you loved each other the least. I wish you the very best. My love to the both of you. Cheers!

Monday, July 25, 2005

Mon, 25 Jul 2005 15:43:07 GMT

I'm 23 now?
EDIT: updated photo album Korea 2005

Yay I'm wishing myself a Happy Birthday!
It was the most formal birthday ever and a first to celebrate it in Korea

Love to my family and new friends
Thank you for making it meaningful <3

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

Wed, 22 Jun 2005 05:58:18 GMT

I Couldn't Sleep So....
RANDOM FACTS ABOUT JINNY
1. I once got stuck between the doors of a subway train in Seoul, Korea. Very embarrassing. The train started moving and I was crazily flapping my arms and legs on both sides.

2. When I was little, remember those holiday parties you had with your class in elementary? I ALWAYS went home early because I'd get too excited over the strawberry icecream and puke.

3. I hate wearing socks. I hated them as a 2nd grader as well. So everyday in class, I'd take them off and stuff them into the empty desk next to me. One day Mrs. Schneider approached the class and asked who the socks belonged to. *silence* Because no one would reclaim them, we made sock puppets that day on account of me!

4. I was a little show off back in the day. In music class I'd raise my hand towards the end of the hour and would ask Mr. Rogers if I could play a song on the piano. I believe I did a total of 5 of these mini recitals. When I think about it now... How fricking random!!

5. Do you have one of those juice makers at home? My parents were obsessed with the machine! They'd give me a cup every morning to drink, but I would just dump it into the trashcan under my desk when they weren't looking. This went on for 4 days and then the fruit flies came and took complete domination of my bedroom. As punishment, my parents made me sleep in there until they cleared out. And NO I don't know why I didn't think of throwing it away in the sink.