Make up your mind, please.
The hardest part about having Asian parents? You can never win. Ever. It’s either you’re doing too much or too little; or trying too hard or not hard enough. Case in point:
I: Why are you eating too much? You’re getting too fat - stop eating.
II: Why aren’t you eating your food? Don’t you know you’re wasting money?I: You need to stop relying on student loans to get you through school. Be more responsible!
II: You need to cut back on your hours at work. You should be focusing more on school.I: Stop dressing so casually. You look like a katulong 1.
II: Ay! Why are you dressed like that? You look like a hooker.I: Why did you only get 80%? Didn’t you study enough?
II: Why did you get 95%? What happened to the other 5%?
Akjdflksldfdsf.
I love my parents - I really do. But sometimes, I can’t help but be glad that I live four hours away from them. My bank account may not agree with me on that decision sometimes, but dear god, at least my sanity can remain a bit more intact.
- Maid, in Tagalog. ↩
The perfect boyfriend…
…is someone who:
- cooks, so I won’t have to. I’d like move past macaroni and cheese for my adult life, thank you.
- cleans, so I can lounge around on a Saturday morning, instead of vaccuuming and doing the washing.
- drives a ‘67 Impala, because clearly, real men only drive Metallicars.
- has a huge coc…oa bean knowledge. Ahem. Because, umm, I like coffee. And stuff.
- says, “As you wish,” when I tell him to polish my horse’s saddle bring me some water.
- sings like Michael Buble, and writes pages upon pages of song lyrics that all describes my awesomeness.
- is Jensen Ackles.
(Oh, and by “perfect boyfriend”, I really meant “perfect harem-boy” :P).
Confessions of a fashion disaster
All right, so I’m not really that much of a fashion disaster. I think. I mean, I dress exactly like every other university student in Ottawa (I’m a sheep, I know. Bahhh) - skinny jeans, t-shirt, scarf, and Ugg boots, so I can’t be that bad.
Anyway, that was all well and great last year, when I was actually a full-time university student. But now that all of my classes are online, and I work full-time in a corporate setting, my good ol’ jeans and t-shirts aren’t exactly going to work any longer.
So I went to the mall last night in search of “business professional” clothing that I can add to my closet. Now, either I looked completely horrible last night (which is entirely possible, I suppose :P) or I must have had a huge sign on my forehead that said, “HALLLP, I have no clue what I’m doing,” because as soon as I walked into the store, two of the sales associates immediately came to my aid.
“I need some black pants,” I told them, “maybe even a couple of really nice cardigans.”
And thus, my lessons began.
I was suddenly transported into a new world, with a completely different language. Micro-twill, tweed, straight-leg, cuffless, flat-front, cigarette pants, palazzo…
Erm. I just wanted black pants.
The same thing happened when I asked for top and cardigan suggestions. Charmeuse, Georgette, Blouson, Eyelet, Poplin…que? I’m sorry, I didn’t think I needed a dictionary to go clothes shopping.
I honestly reached a point where I just wanted to quit, head to American Eagle, and grab another pair of skinny jeans.
But then a third (three sales associates - three - ajksdfhlsfsdfsdf) sales associate came and handed me these really nice black mico-twill pants. And they fitted perfectly! And they made me look like I actually had an arse (a hard feat to do, let me tell you). Then they gave me this really nice silky purple top to try on. I was a bit apprehensive at first, because Barney has pretty much traumatized me of anything puple, but hey, it worked. I didn’t look like Barney, and look, what do you know - I have boobs.
Ahem. Anyway.
I don’t really remember where I was going with that, but I did end up buying some really cute tops and sweaters and two pairs of the micro-twill pants (because looking like I actually have an arse = WIN).
I bought the purple, non-Barney top, a green (or “peacock” as they like to call it) wool cardigan, a charcoal shrug, and a super cute brown argyle sweater.
Not a bad haul, eh?
It was an educating experience, I can tell you that much. Business professionalism, here I come.
Now, if I can only figure out how to walk in four inch heels without looking like a duck, we may just attain world peace. Or, you know, I’d also settle for not falling flat on my face, and incurring a gigantic bruise on my bum.
(This whole being an adult thing? HUGE, MAJOR FAIL. Except for the money part. I’m totally down with the money part).
Edit: Clearly, I cannot spell. Fasion? Fasion? Akjdslfskhfdsf.
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