Wednesday, November 30
The California bar sucks. There's no better word for it. S-U-C-K-S. Even as I say it, I know that anyone who hasn't been through the test won't get it. It's impossible to really give life to the suckiness of it all. It's like a woman trying to tell a man, "Giving birth is painful." Imagine giving birth to triplets.
And each of those triplets has a head the size of a watermelon.
And somehow, these babies are either half-porcupine or half-cactus.
Now imagine going through all of that 48 times. Thankfully, I did not have to take the bar for a quarter century before passing. But this guy did!
I admire him. I don't think I would've lasted that long. There's a small part of me that also thinks he's kinda nuts. He's like one of those H&M first-day shoppers - admirable, but in a crazy way. And definitely persistent.
It's estimated that Maxcy Filer probably spent about $50,000 between 1966 and 1991 on fees, bar review courses, and transportation and lodging related to taking the bar exam; and Filer says the figure is probably about right. When he started, he said, a bar review course cost $100. Later, he was paying $1,000.
Over the years, all his children went to college, and two of his sons, who were in elementary school when their father started taking the bar exam, became lawyers. And he finally did it himself.
The lesson here? Persevere. Don't give up, because anything is possible with enough persistence. Anything.
Tuesday, November 29
Join if you can! There will be free pizza, truffles, and vodka for the first people to arrive (while supplies last), not to mention the illustrious Craft Fair taking place for the first two hours of the event. Lis will be there selling her notecards, little books, notepads, coasters, and the letterpress printed notecard collection called Pixel & Floyd she collaborated on with Paper Monkey Press. Get some great holiday gifts; mingle, eat, and party with local designers and the folks at ReadyMade.
RSVP to RSVP@ReadyMadeMag.com. See you there!
Monday, November 28
Thanksgiving has always been a huge affair for our clan. A lot of my dad’s side of the family lives in the bay area, so we always find ourselves with 30-40 people under one roof during the holidays.
When I got to the house this year, Beverly, one of my cousins among the clan, was sharing pictures… the sonogram pictures of the baby living in her expanding belly. Bev and I were the only two girls among us eight cousins who grew up together. This year she, the 26-year old, got married in May. This meant that I, the 30-year old, heard it all from the ajummas (Korean aunts who are the Asian version of the women in My Big Fat Greek Wedding) at my cousin’s wedding. “Jennipah-ya, how old are you now? When are YOU getting married?”
And now, she’s expecting. I’m happy for her, don’t get me wrong. Beverly was actually quite sweet about it all, glumly saying “sorry” to me as soon as I congratulated her, and trying to shield me from the hordes of the in-your-face aunts who attacked me with, “Jennipah, look at Beburee! When are YOU getting married and having babies?” I told Bev that there was no reason to be sorry. This was such happy news for her; I could handle the other stuff.
I just smiled and escaped under the guise of wanting to get more food. We have turkey and all the traditional fixings of stuffing and mashed potatoes; and then on the other side of the table, we also have a Korean feast of meat, seafood, veggies and kimchee. I can never quite fit everything on one plate. I had an especially overflowing plate to deal with this year.
We found out that my other cousin, Alan, had been diagnosed with throat cancer.
Alan, the oldest among the eight cousins, was our proud leader, orchestrating our games of hide and seek, Monopoly or whatever else he made up for our entertainment. One year, he directed us all in our “show” for the adults, where the boys performed their best breakdance moves, and I sang to Madonna’s Dress You Up with a bow in my hair and gloves sans fingers on my hands. He is my oppa, my older brother. He’s only 33 now; he has a three-year old daughter. This can’t be real.
Alan oppa was hanging out upstairs, away from the pitying eyes and his mother’s tears. I joined him, trying to chat about life as normally as possible.
“Hey, Jenn, how’s it going? How’s work?”
“Everything’s good. I still love my job. I can’t complain.”
“Are you still with that boyfriend?”
“Yes, I am. I love him, but our parents still don’t approve. My dad keeps threatening to disown me.”
“Jenn, let me tell you something. The truth is, I could die soon. That's made me evaluate life from a different perspective. I’ve been thinking about what Lance Armstrong’s motto Live Strong means. You have to live each and every day to the fullest, and you have to live freely.
“My parents didn't approve of my relationship either. I was 26 years old, one of the youngest in the family to get married. My bride was 22. It’s been seven years and, I have not regretted one day of it all. I think of what I do regret: the smoking, the missed vacations because I was trying to make too much money too fast.
“If you love him and he loves you, you have to be with him. Don’t waste any more time. Your father holds very high standards for you, as high as I would hold for my own daughter. He is idealistic, and he puts you up on a pedestal.
“But you are not a statue; you're a person.
“I’ve asked all the uncles how to succeed. Your father made it all on his own. He passed the students’ exam to enter the country. Do you know how few people got in that way? He’s a very smart man. He didn’t get a helping hand like a lot of our other relatives did. You should be very proud of him.You know what he said when I asked him how to succeed? He said, ‘Moderation.’
“You did the whole law school and lawyer thing without complaining to them. You were being a dutiful daughter, which is great, but that was never you. That is not moderation. If you keep living for them, you won’t be happy. You know what will make you happy, who will make you happy. Don’t waste any more time. Live. Just live."
Saturday, November 26
If Stanford won, I would have to wear one of DLao's school shirts for a week. If Berkeley won, he would have to wear one of mine.
I don't think DLao actually thought through the implications of wearing a shirt which was actually my size. So when Cal crushed Stanford 27-3... well, I think these pictures are far better than any words of description I could possibly string together.
Go bears! (And in case you're wondering, this is a kid's shirt, size medium.)
Look at that midriff!DLao said he had a hard time breathing.The funniest thing happened when we were leaving the bar. (Yes, we were out in public!) This guy who took our table said to DLao, "Hey, I went to Berkeley too. What year did you graduate?" The guy had a big grin on his face, but I don't think he realized DLao didn't want to be in that shirt.
Had I gotten the pink shirt or the camisole with flowers, it would've been obvious that DLao didn't wear it of his own accord. This shirt was so perfectly tight, however,it just made him look like a cheesy guy who meant to show off his bod. Ha!
He's such a good sport. I almost felt bad enough to let him off. I said almost. Thanks for giving me the laugh I needed this weekend, DLao!
Tuesday, November 22
I was not the cutest kid, but my mom is beautiful. My grandma's beautiful too!Here we are in our Han-boks. Jimmy was the cutest baby, and I was a protective big sis.My dad sported facial hair for ages. And sideburns. My mom said he was quite the ladies' man.Could my glasses be any bigger?Thank goodness for contact lenses.Jimmy and I grew up with our cousins, Jason and Jeffrey. (Our families went with the "J" theme.) Our grandma took care of all of us after school while our parents were at work. It's like I had three little brothers. And I was the reigning princess of the land!Could my mom's glasses be any bigger? She'd be in style with this look today.Happy family.
I agree with Dave. (I wonder if I can call him Davey? Or Davakins? Or Davipah?) I volunteer whenever I can at 826 Valencia, which was founded by Eggers - love him, and I got to meet him! Check out the rest of the New York Times article on the Mission and/or browse through their travel guide for the city of San Francisco. It's impossible to not fall in love with this city.
Monday, November 21
"Do you have to plug it in?"
"No, the battery recharges itself when I slow down or brake. The only time I've seen the battery get really low is during my drives to Tahoe, going uphill for miles and miles. But it was totally fine."
"What kind of gas mileage do you get?"
"It's been getting around 45 miles per gallon. I drive 400ish miles before I have to fill it, usually around 9 gallons. That's actually on the low side because of all the San Francisco hills. I talked to someone else who drives her Prius in the flatter 'burbs, and she gets 50 or 60 something m.p.g.!"
"Does it feel like you're driving a golf cart?"
"No, but sometimes I do pop my feet through the floor and run, like on the Flinstones, just for fun."
Kidding about that last one. It feels like any other Japanese car. But it is so quiet I sometimes forget it's on. At stop lights, people think I've stalled.
I could drive Priuses (Prii?) for the rest of my life. It's not the absolute perfect car, but based on the 2006 enhancements covered by AutoSpies, Toyota's doing a really good job of getting pretty darn close to meeting of all my personal automotive needs.
Leather! I love my Prius, but I want the leather which will now be offered! And if I'm reading my geek speak correctly, I'd be able to connect my iPod in the 2006. The last thing on my wish list would be a sun roof, but I guess that would take away from the energy efficiency. Ooh, I'm drooling. Everyone should get a Prius.
Sunday, November 20
On top of all that, my usual partners in crime weren't going to join me in the combat zone. My girlfriends were sick, out of town, had out-of-town visitors, were in true saving mode or just weren't willing to be that shopaholicly nuts with me. Was I ready to face the battleground as a lone soldier? How badly did I want in on Stella?
Lisa put it best when she said, "I have a feeling you'll go. If anything, do it for the blog, girl!" Yes, I would do it for the blog. I had to keep the tour going. I had to let my girls live through my report, if they so wanted. However, as crazy as I am, I wasn't willing to camp out to be the first in line. I wasn't willing to wait in much of a line at all without friends to keep me company.
So, I leisurely made my way to B.A.R.T. at 10 a.m. I was holding onto the smallest sliver of hope that the line would no longer be horrifically disgusting by the time I got there. I figured I wouldn't mind waiting a little bit, and maybe, just maybe, I would find a discarded Stella piece hidden in a random corner. I found myself sitting near two other girls who were also headed to H&M. One commented to the other, "I don't care if it sucks. I'm getting something, even if it's a pair of socks."
When I got to 150 Powell around 10:30, I was in shock. I knew it would be bad, but I wasn't prepared for BaAAAaadD, with a capital WTF! Apparently, people drove for miles and began lining up just after midnight. I asked people who weren't even all that close to the front of the line what time they got there, and they told me they arrived at 9:00. The line snaked almost completely around the block, all the way to Crate & Barrel. There was a literal red carpet and music blasting in front of the building, but that wasn't enough entertainment to keep me waiting for 2-3 hours.
I made my way to 150 Post, the smaller store which only carries the women's line. I figured there was no way that would provide the same ridiculous craziness, right?
It was deja vu. So I sighed sadly and left. I just couldn't do it. I gazed with envy upon anyone I saw for the remainder of the day who toted their H&M bags with proud success. The shopping bag was like a medal or badge of sorts. Instead of "H&M," they should've displayed the words, "I made it in! You didn't! Nyah, nyah to YOU, Jenn!"
I woke up Sunday morning, not necessarily thinking of trying again. And then I wanted to try again. I had to.
I decided to put on my workout clothes and running shoes, and I'd make a run out of my journey. That way, if I ended up not getting inside again, at least I'd be somewhat productive anyway. It was probably a good 2-3 miles each way. Run shopping is great.
I got to Powell, and you won't believe this, but there was still a line! It wasn't all that long, but Taer and I shop at line-free H&M when I visit him in D.C. There was definitely no chance for Stella for me by then, and no Stella means no waiting for me. If I weren't in my Asics, I wouldn't have tried Post St. But I jogged on over...
And I got in! Joy! Success! Celebration! I practically broke out into the Running Man followed by the Roger Rabbit, but I held back. I just shopped.
It wasn't nearly as crowded as I expected, no more than any other Manhattan H&M. It was pretty much what I expected: affordable and trendy. After initially grabbing for things in a mad frenzy, I sanely settled on a top and skirt, an outfit I could wear for work for a mere $60. And I finally got my chance to wear a badge of my own. As I was walking home, I even heard a girl exclaim to her friends, "Look! She got a bag!"
Yes, I did.
Friday, November 18
When Lee and I got back to my Prius, we turned up the heat all the way to "MAX HOT." (It actually says that on the climate control screen, and it always cracks us up.)
Lee: Your Prius seems to heat up faster than any other car.
me: It almost makes me not miss my the butt warmers in my other car.
Lee: I was just talking to someone about heated seats. Not everyone likes them, you know.
me: I think it's because it kinda makes you feel like you peed your pants.
Lee then laughed and asked if I was going to pee my pants right then and there. I replied with a resounding, "Yes!" I don't have a bladder control problem; I was just having a lot of fun. It was code.
When I was little, I used to wet my pants often. My parents tell me I wasn't actually all that little. I was older than I should have been for such a thing. I don't know exactly how old I was, nor do I remember peeing my pants... with the exception of one particular incident.
I was playing with my friends at school - I think preschool - and I was having FUN! I was having so much fun, I chose to ignore the call of nature. Well, that call got louder and louder, and I kept ignoring and having my fun and ignoring.
The next thing I knew, I was squatting and pleading with my playmates to get the teacher. "Why? What's wrong?" they wanted to know. Crouching me, still dry at the time, replied in a wail, "Just get the teacher!"
And you know what happened next. Apparently, this used to happen all the time. I'm proud to say that I've learned now. I am a completely potty trained thirty-year old.
So the next time you hear someone ask if I've gotta pee, you know that I'm probably having a really good time.
(BTW, is it "pee my pants" or "pee in my pants"??? The English major in me wants to add the "in," which I think is grammatically correct, but I think it sounds better without. Why can't the nerd in me let go of such things?)
Wednesday, November 16
I didn't always have these funky moments. I was happy. I'm not saying that I'm unhappy now, but I used to be the is-she-drunk-and-if-not-what-the-heck-is-she-on kind of happy before. It was rather unreal. But it was real.
My good college friend, Henry, was a psych major. He used to tell me, "You know, there are some people out there who show only their smiling faces to the world. And then when they go home, they cry by themselves." I think he was secretly hoping that I would one day burst into tears of relief and admit, "Yes, that's me! How did you know? Thank you for making me deal with my inner demons and put aside my mask of avoidance!" But I never did the crying by myself thing. With me, what you see is what you get. If I seemed almost too content, it's because I actually was. Sorry, Henry.
Maybe I have seasonal affective disorder. I dunno. I know I'll pop out of it soon enough. That must be why I've been shopping lately. Retail therapy works. For me, shrinking my bank account to buy cute stuff works just as well as shrinking my head.
You know what else works? Getting kissed by a cute boy!
Laura asked me to send a kiss to Harrison from her, but I got one instead. Harrison is such a doll! We had a great meal at Pacific Catch. Their ahi poke wasabi bowl and sweet potato fries always make for a good meal, but everything's better when I'm in good company. We just talked and talked and talked, and then we hung out at Books Inc. I could get lost in a bookstore for hours. It was exactly what the doctor ordered for the evening.
Tuesday, November 15
Courtney had a friend who was playing at Andrew Jaeger's House of Seafood & Jazz at the Condor, so we decided to go. (Harrison was supposed to come too, but he ended up being tired and needing to do work tonight instead. I guess we wore him out yesterday after all! He's supposed to join us for our Lost party tomorrow, though.)
I was excited to try the New Orleans food, since the chef came from the French Quarter and had a popular first restaurant there. I was a little surprised that I wasn't able to find many non-media reviews from other foodies out there. There wasn't a thing on Citysearch; Yelp had only one. This place is three months old, which is usually long enough to gain some attention, but it's probably remained under the radar because Andrew Jaeger was working on reopening his first restaurant, which had been affected by Katrina. That one has reopened, and Jaeger is now back. We had a good meal.
We ordered a bunch of stuff and shared. We had the black mussels with tomato and herbs, jambalaya, seafood mufaletta and a side of crawfish grits. Every dish was solid, though there wasn't one dish that particularly stood out. I would want to come back to try more of the items on the menu (etouffee, turtle soup), but I'm not necessarily dying to reorder anything we already had. While it was good, it was not spectacular. But I will come back. They're supposed to revamp their menu very soon.
One thing I really enjoyed - and this might sound odd - was the bread! It was warm and served with a garlicy herb butter. I wanted to spread that butter on everything. I wanted to get a big spoonful of that butter and eat it like ice cream. Rather than worrying about filling up on bread, I'm going to save room for the bread and butter next time.
Tempranillos are a new find for me, and I'm liking them. The 2003 Preludio Tempranillo was good; and at $24 for the bottle, it was also a great value.
I've decided I don't do dinner and live music enough. I'll have to negotiate some kind of arrangement with my next dinner companion(s). Maybe we can take turns singing to each other between bites. Yeah, that'll make lots of people want to eat with me.
Monday, November 14
Harrison now lives in Hollywood, but he's up in San Francisco for work. We're planning to hog his free time as much as we can all week because he's that great, and we had so much fun the last time he was here.
We started our week with dinner at Maverick. It was better than I remembered, and you can't beat half-priced wine on Mondays! We had a bottle of Chasseur pinot noir. Mmmm. Our waiter described it well, "absolutely gorgeous fruit." The beet salad, fig salad and the Maverick salad were all scrumptious. The steak was also really tasty; and my bacon wrapped, stuffed trout was also inventive and yummy. I think I'll try the fried chicken if it's still on the menu next time.
GrrrRrrrr! Hot! HaAWT!We found this old school thang outside the restaurant. Harrison was so excited by the eight track player! Doesn't he look excited? Doesn't his hand look huge?
We decided to go for dessert at Limon. The oozy chocolate cake thing with a pear and ice cream was almost orgasmic. Harrison, who is also a fantastic cook, shared a good tip for making the center of the cake gooey. Using an ice cube tray, freeze some of the cake mix. Before you bake the rest of the mix, place the frozen cubes in the center. Voila! Not only is Harrison a good-cookin', good-lookin' ball of fun, he's also awesomely chivalrous. He pulls out chairs and opens doors, and he even changed sides with me when we were walking down the sidewalk so that he would be on the side closer to the street. Isn't that sweet? I love chivalry! And he's not even trying. It's just in him. Where is the rest of the chivalry out there?
You might be thinking that Harrison's just trying to impress us with his good manners, but he's not. He doesn't like us like that. He doesn't like any females like that. Sorry, girls! And actually, sorry to the boys too - he's taken.
The last time Harrison was here, we kept him out til the wee hours of the morning. We couldn't do that on a school night so early in the week, but let's see where these next few evenings lead us...
Sunday, November 13
Chenja and I were originally just planning to catch a quick glass and a nibble before going out to dinner elsewhere. However, two words kept us at Cav: truffle sampling.
I looove truffles, and I looove sampling. I actually really enjoy food because I savor flavor. I'd rather taste than actually eat. Does that make sense? Is it weird? I would prefer to have twenty bites of twenty different things than chow down on a single dish. If you're eating with me, it means we're eating family style, whether the restaurant planned for that or not. If you don't want to share, I can't eat with you.
The truffle sampling consisted of truffled mushroom crostini, frittata and raviolini. All three were fabulous, but if I had to pick a favorite, it would be the crostini (which can also be ordered on its own). The raviolini oozed egg yolk, which might sound strange, but it was all so deliciously luxurious.
Isn't there something so sexy about truffles? After all our truffling, I found myself wanting to make out with Chenja... and then we totally did! (Ah ha, just kidding. I was just trying to make George mad; he's protective of his woman. Hey, Giorgio, did it work?)
We also had beet salad and oxtail pasta. Both were divine. The wine list was extensive, and the bartender was knowledgeable. I told him that my favorite wine was Ridge and that another recent fave find was Chasseur Pinot Noir. Based on that, he recommended this Verdad Tempranillo, which I enjoyed. My next glass was a Chilean wine, Kuyen. I didn't love this one right away, but it got better as it opened up a bit. I can't wait to go back again.
At the same time on the east side, Taer was playing cards and playing with babies. We send each other pictures over our phones all the time, so it feels like we're together even when we're not. We're practically a freakin commercial. I love me my Taer, and I love me some chubby cheeks. I can't decide who's cuter in this pic.
After Cav, we met up with Lee and DLao and friends at Skylark for drinking and dancing. Lee was working nights all week, but she's finally done (for now)! Yay! Reunited, and it feels so good.And tonight's dinner marked another reunion of sorts in the revival of the Chianti Club. What is the Chianti Club, you ask? Well, it was founded by Lee while she was living in New York. The purpose was to experience new international cuisines. Some of the restaurants they explored included Ethiopian, Senegalese, South Indian and Indonesian. The first official meeting of the San Francisco chapter was Moroccan at Aziza.
Yum, yum, yum! The space was beautiful. The food was flavorful. After dinner, the Club reviews their most favorite and least favorite dishes, and they discuss whether or not they would return, if there were any surprises, etc. Everyone had a hard time choosing least favorite dishes because everything was great. We had to resort to picking the bread. My personal favorite was the cous cous lamb entree. I'm not always a huge cous cous lover, but theirs was yummy. The squab was also great. And their drinks were all really good too; I loved their bloody mary. We would all come back.
But first, the Chianti Club has other countries to visit. Russia? Nepal?
You can click on the image to enlarge and print it, or click here and print. Ugh, I told myself I wouldn't buy any more books until I was done with the five or so I have just sitting on my nightstand... but you know I can't resist a good deal! Oh, well.
Saturday, November 12
When Oprah was turned away from the Hermes store in Paris, she called it her "Crash moment."
I have had my fair share of experiences as an Asian woman. I was crossing paths with a Caucasian woman near Union Square when we tried to get out of each other's way. We ended up doing that dance where we moved to the side in the same direction, and then we both move together again in the other direction. When we finally got around each other, she had the nerve to say, "Go back to where you came from." (Uh, I'm from here.) When I was in Texas, I was called "a little China doll." (I do realize that I was in Texas.) A friend was recently in Vegas when she was called "chink" and got pelted with an egg. The list goes on.
When I was walking down the street yesterday, a guy called out to me from his car, "Hey, Lucy Liu! Are you Lucy Liu? Can I have your autograph? Ooh, man, it's Lucy Liu." Not quite a Crash moment, I realize. It was actually kind of funny in a lame way. I wanted to end this post on a less serious note. But go rent Crash. It'll make you think.
Thursday, November 10
We're not very good at being responsible adults. Once we made that decision, the retail gods decided to tempt us, and we found more things to buy than ever!
With these friends and family discounts, plus other sources like Daily Candy and Splendora enticing us, we then decided that “saving mode” could be put on hold during sale season. I'm personally of the belief that our vow wasn't really meant to include amazing deals anyway. I mean, we are kind of actually saving money by getting these great discounts, aren't we?
Our revised terms led us to an Ashley Dearborn sample sale. I'm a big fan of our revised terms. These shoes are so fabulous! And we got to meet the designer herself (she's sandwiched between us in this pic). It's no wonder her stuff is so fun. Ashley was a blast, and so was her friend, Kate, who traveled from New York to help out.
We supposedly bought Ashley's two favorites. I don't know if she was just saying that, but I'll let myself go ahead and believe it. She mentioned that some people just don't "get it" when it comes to her designs, but we got it. Oooh, yeah - we got it.
My shoes are called "pegasus," but doesn't the horn make it a unicorn? Anyway, whatever they are, I love 'em! When I put my feet together, I make one animal kiss the other one. Mwah! And don't even ask what happens when I cross my legs...
Wednesday, November 9
Print the Club Monaco one to use in the store (though Chenja pointed out that the dates are incorrect - Friday is the 11th, but I still think it's ok).
Sephora is only available online. Entering the code FF2005 gets you 20% off Sephora.com. Enjoy!
Tuesday, November 8
Kat and Sindy already had their makeover ways with me and my "convertible" dress this weekend. Goodness, this makes me seem vain. It's all me, me, ME! And why can't I ever just keep a normal expression on my face? Dur. Anyway, I created this grid thing with Picasa, my fave photo editing tool. You can use it to share you, you, YOU!
But this is important, so I'm doing it. The polling places close at 8pm, people. Do the right thing. If you want a little guidance, check out The Guardian.
Monday, November 7
Never say I love you
If you don't really care
Never talk about feelings
If they aren't really there
Never hold a hand
If you're going to break a heart
Never say you're going to
If you don't plan to start
Never look into my eyes
If all you'll do is lie
Never say hello
If you really mean goodbye
- written by me, age 9
I was a brooding, dramatic kid. Alright, that's a blatant lie. I was a very well-behaved child with a sunny disposition and a relatively uninteresting everyday life. However, I did love to read about the pre-adult Danielle Steelesque passion of other, more interesting girls in books like Sweet Valley High.
I wrote this poem in Mrs. Favila's fourth grade English class. Each student put together a whole collection of original works - my binder was orange, with a cover of artfully placed stickers from my massive sticker collection. I think I used a couple of scratch 'n sniff ones, and maybe I even threw in an oily!
At the time, I hadn't been in love yet (not even the puppy varietal) nor had I really experienced my first true crush. Unless, of course, you count Kirk Cameron. But I sure knew how to turn up the faux drama.
I was particularly proud of this piece. My friends liked it so much, they copied it down and placed it on the outside covers of their own school binders, under the clear plastic. I eventually saw it on the binders of people who weren't even my friends. It was like email forwarding, long before email existed. I was a recognized writer. Sort of.
And now, 20 years later, my poem still exists on the Internet! This site is close to the original, with a couple extra added lines and "author unknown." This site categorizes it under "truth." This site claims some person named "Miranda" is the author!
I can only imagine how different girls copied this from binder to binder, and it continued to get passed along until the existence of the world wide web. It's fascinating to consider just how my pre-teen words were kept alive all these years, isn't it? It's pretty amazing, actually.
But I am going to have to find that Miranda chick and have a few words with her...
Sunday, November 6
Miles was the cutest ringbearer. He's playing hard to get here.
I said, "Show me sexy!" and this is what I got. Go on, girls!I said, "Show me sexy intellectuals!" and this is what I got.There's just something about those glasses. Taer's thinking hard here. Hmmm... Annie asked Miles for a "bpoh bpoh."
Mike got the "bpoh bpoh." Adorable!
I told you Miles plays hard to get. He was popular among the ladies.Beautiful couple!
The teal girls.When the boys get together, they like to cause trouble...... "trouble" = "Dirty Sanchez"
Ew!This pose is SO Annie!
I'm trying to be so Annie here too, but I don't think I succeeded.
After all that attention, Miles was worn out.