There is something incredibly comforting about laying on the couch and hearing a Vietnamese skit at full blast. It is the place that I never really want to be, but I have no problem doing this night after night when I’m around my family.

I don’t understand 90% of what is being said, but it makes me understand why people of the same culture cling together. The sounds, the lilting uplift of the words and my mom’s cackle, it’s a good meld — it’s home.


I am mad. Really mad. Really, really upset at a decision that was made without asking me. I was put in charge, only to realize just today that I’m just another chess piece. There is so much more I could say, but I’ll be polite and leave it at that.

mojado burritos and dr. pepper

I walked out of work tonight into the fog and I wished I was getting a Dr. Pepper.

I don’t drink pop. I haven’t for over two years now. I wanted to go get one from the 7-11 down the street from my house, in a Big Gulp, but only because I force him to re-use cups.

But he isn’t there. There is no one to get a Dr. Pepper and Snickers bar for. He is sweltering, in the jungle, without me.

We spent a month trying to get as close to each other as possible, squeezing close enough to rid ourselves of that final centimeter of air between our bodies. We cooked together and he made fun of me for re-using Ziploc bags. We ate burritos from every place in town that we could.
He got me Slurpees from a different 7-11, because that is where they had the blue vanilla ones when I was dying of post-tonsillectomy pain. He made me chao.

When we are apart, our conversations are pretty simple.

“I miss you.”

“I love you so much.”

It’s never really been about what we say. I know that when he wakes up, he feels that ping of sadness when he realizes there are no morning kisses. I miss the feeling of his breath on the back of my neck when he says “I love you,” like he did the first time.

Our whole relationship has been apart, whether 45 minutes or across the country or across the world. Somehow, we make it. We’re OK.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to go get a Dr. Pepper right now.


It is one of my least attractive traits, of which there are many.

Lately, there has been lots of wondering as to whether I’ve done enough in my 25 years of life. Perhaps this is my real Quarterlife Crisis, who knows.

I know a lot of people who are doing amazing, interesting, provocative things. I am….not.

I probably seem more impressive than I am. Let me take a minute to be ridiculously humble. Most people have a blog. A lot of people make money from it. So the blogging isn’t that special, really.

My job is really a hodge podge of stuff that no one else really has the time or know-how to do. Not even know-how, energy is more like it. I do not know how to code, so that puts me behind a million other web producers and I have no multi-media skills because I’ve been put in a position where I’m not likely to gain any. I am whining, yes.

So I am not impressive, I think. I have managed to do quite little with my 25 years except get burned out by the industry i once fell in love with. I love journalism, but somewhere in the past two years, it’s scorned me like no other lover has. I cannot make amends with it and every time I try to, it turns me away.

So I am jealous of my journalism friends who are in jobs where they are achieving things. Making new products, writing killer stories. Anyone who is not burned out, basically.

I’m jealous of people who got out, because they had the skills and networking to make the shift.

I’m jealous of people who can afford to live alone, buy a house, a new car, or a fancy dinner once in a while. I love to cook, but it gets tiring sometimes.

I’m jealous of the people who do not need to be in love with their career to be happy. I wish it were that easy for me.

Jealousy is a sin, or whatever. It’s a bad trait. It is always greener on the other side of the fence, they say. They say a lot of things. I recognize I probably am impressive, that a lot of 25-year-olds have not conquered the world. But at 18 I felt like I was going places. At 23, I felt on top of the world. Now I’m that old curmudgeonly bastard in the corner.


Someone tell me how to tell someone you think they’re a bad roommate and that you’d appreciate it if they didn’t have loud sex when your friends are sleeping in the same room.