The Best Push Presents

This can be mine if I don't mind having, as Borat would say, wizard's sleeve lady parts.

A while ago, I received this photo from Sweetheart when he was at the Toronto Auto Show, followed by a text saying it’ll be mine once I bear his 7th child. Setting aside the fact that I am not a sow (and therefore refuse to produce that many offspring) –

30DC7: Someone I'd Trade Places With

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Of course I’d want to trade places with someone who has a ton of money, a slammin’ body, and a superhot boyfriend/husband. I briefly contemplated Gisele Bundchen because I’d love to sample some Tom Brady, but I really don’t care for football – I watch soccer. So obviously, for me, I’d trade places with a soccer WAG. And, as I’ve established, I’d make an awesome one. The problem is which footie to pick.

The first names to come in mind were:

30DC4: Top 10 Celebrity Crushes

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If you're a girl or gay boy, please just skip ahead to the jump.  You're welcome.

If you're one of my 3 straight male readers, this post is worth your time to read because it shows you what (some) women like aesthetically, and also because it can clearly show you how women see men differently.  It's amazing to me how different our tastes are - what we find attractive and what straight guys think will attract us.  So consider this an informal lesson and consult your best girl buddy if you have any other questions.

Without further ado, here are my top 10 celebrity crushes:

Why I'm Awesome At My Job

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The following are some verbatim requests from my boss that I've fulfilled at work:

“Tina, I need to find someone. He’s

My First Yoga Class

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“Namaste,” the diminutive, caramel-skinned, bangin’-bodied, bald instructer greeted us in a soothing voice that was laced with a Spanish accent. “Is anyone here new to yoga?”

I raised my hand shyly. Calmly delighted,

Things I've Learned from Sweetheart

This is by no means an exhaustive list, but I thought I'd pick out a few highlights:

1.) Athletic ability and academic ability are not mutually exclusive. 
Inconveniently, this refutes my often-used excuse for explaining why I’ve always been hopelessly terrible at sports. But apparently some people are so gifted.

2.) “Mutually exclusive” is an engineering term. 

3.) Boys will...

NaBloPoMo Day 2: Why I'd Be A Great WAG

I'm still riding the high from Spain's big, history-making win yesterday!

Some of my favourite parts of championship soccer finals actually are not the matches themselves, but the bits preceding and following the game - namely, when the footballers stroll onto the pitch holding the hands of little kids, and afterwards, when the winning team members bring their babies/young relatives onto the field.

If you follow my Twitter, you may recall some of my tweets about how, um, happy I feel when I see footballers with young children.  I squealed internally when the sportscaster commented on how Fernando Torres "had his hands full" walking around with little Nora & Leo on each arm.  I had to suppress a high-pitched awww at the photo Sergio Ramos tweeted of him holding the Euro Cup and hugging his niece, who he described as the world's most beautiful.

Consequently, I was reminded yesterday of my deep-seated desire to be a soccer WAG (Wife And Girlfriend).  I really, really want to.  And I am absolutely certain I would make an excellent one.  So I thought I would list all the reasons why I'd make a great WAG, in case any prospective FHABs (Footballer Husbands and Boyfriends) ever decide to look on the internet for candidates.

This list was created chiefly with Spanish footies in mind, but I wouldn't say no to some notable exceptions, such as Yoann Gourcuff, Robin van Persie, Marco Borriello, Olivier Giroud, or Pablo Osvaldo, for example.

So! My dear, prospective FHABs, this is why I'd make a great WAG (in no particular order):

"Are you single?"

When I first started my Youtube channel, I made a video with tips for visa applicants.  I had just applied for my second European visa in preparation to come here (Spain), and I thought the information I learned might be useful for anyone going on exchange or thinking of working abroad. 

I had no idea what I was getting myself into!

My ass. It looks amazing.

And I never thought I'd ever say that because, actually, I have a bit of a complex about that part of my anatomy. I'm enormously insecure about it. Longtime readers might remember that I wrote a little jig about it a couple years ago, entitled "If I only had an ass"

IT Boys Are Universally Awkward

A Spanish man let a door slam in my face for the first time since I've been here.

How Could I Be So Stupid???

a.k.a. I am so smart! S-M-R-T!
a.k.a. MASSIVE Culinary Fail

I've been noticing that ever since I moved into my new apartment, nothing I've been cooking has been working out; everything's been tasting very bland, even when I saturate it with as much salt as I dare.

I didn't realize it at first because, actually, I like mild flavours and I don't normally need to add salt to my food. And I think I kind of imagined that things were tasting a bit better after I added salt to them, even though they weren't.

But last night, after making some onion scrambled eggs (a family favourite) and not tasting a difference even after adding a generous sprinkle of salt, I started to wonder if there was something wrong with my salt. Maybe I bought a defective bottle. Maybe I bought "mild" salt, if there was such a thing...

So I poured some of my salt on my hand to taste it and noticed that, indeed, it wasn't salty. I took a closer look at the bottle and saw...

...the words "SODIO BICARBONATO."

Which ≠ sodium chloride (NaCl). I've been cooking with baking soda for the past month thinking that it's salt!!! HOW STUPID COULD I BE?!?!?!

My only excuse is that, apparently a few years later, I'm still recovering from the brain cells that died when I temporarily lost my mind and joined a sorority.

I guess I just saw "sodium" on the bottle and immediately thought 'salt!'

No wonder nothing's been tasting right. No wonder I've been feeling bloated after eating my own cooking. My goodness, I knew I was silly but I didn't think I was STUPID.

Oh, me. :P

I'm capable.

I just nonchalantly asked my mother if, oh, you know, I might have been sired by a gentleman who might POSSIBLY have European citizenship - or if he might be a descendant of someone who does. Because, you know, I totally wouldn't judge her if my biological father isn't actually the person I was raised to believe he is. It's okay. In fact, it would be totally groovy because then I could skip all this dramatic visa/contract bullshit.

Wait, I've totally lost you, haven't I? Let me backtrack a bit.

You know what it's like when you've been wanting something so badly for such a long time (we're talking years) with every fiber of your being? And then you feel so helpless and hopeless when you do more research because doors keep shutting in your face? And then you get the doomed, sinking feeling that your dream will just never come true because it just doesn't seem feasible? And then somehow, by some amazing twist of fate you chance across the opportunity to attain your goal? And then miraculously things seem to fall into place piece by piece as you incredulously watch from where you are? And then you start letting yourself believe that - maybe - your wildest dreams just might come true?

That's what I'm going through.

I started learning Spanish in high school, when I was 16 years old. I always thought it was a gorgeous language and it was one of my favourite subjects. I kept it up in university and I just very steadily developed a massive crush on Spanish culture. Never mind that the things we were shown in school were probably a little stereotypical - I was just so curious about it and I wanted to learn more. When I completed all the advanced grammar courses in university, I stopped taking Spanish because I was majoring in two subjects and I didn't have room for electives anymore.

Then last year I went to live in France; it was my third visit to Europe. I swear, I fall in love with the continent every time I set foot on it. It was so anti-climactic to go home. Since I came home, I've been gripped by an overwhelming wanderlust. I just knew I wasn't finished with Europe yet, and since then I've been a little bit obsessed over finding a legitimate excuse to go back.

"Legitimate" being either a study program that'll be relevant to my chosen field (public relations/communications/marketing/advertising) or finding a job. But I've been in school for-absolutely-ever and I really feel like I need to accumulate some work experience, so I thought that an internship or, more preferably, a permanent position would be the way to go. And naturally, I had my heart set on Spain.

Then I came across an absolute angel of a lady who believed in me and referred me to some contacts she knew. We formed a friendship and I applied. Then I got offered an internship early February - I know, I couldn't believe it, either.

But now I'm running into contract problems. I need the co-operation of my school, which I'm not getting right now, and without it I won't be able to get the visa I need. If only I were European, or a descendant of someone with European citizenship, or married to a European (okay, let's not even go there) I could just go and work there, no problem, and I might even get paid. Hence the question to my mom.

But I'm not so fortunate, so I've been going back and forth between the company and my school for a month now, trying my very best to work things out, absolutely unwilling to let such an opportunity slip away just because I can't get a piece of paper signed, when I've worked so hard for so long - and I continue to work so hard every day - to make it happen. It has to happen. There's no other way. Not going and losing this are just not options. There's no way in hell I'm ever going to give up; I want it too badly. Besides, how could I possibly give up when my angel lady has so much faith in me and has been doing so much to help me - and the HR person at the company has been sticking with me this whole time trying to work this out?

I'm going to find a way to make this happen.

Wish me luck?

Different Paths

I've just spent the last 10 minutes analyzing pictures of an old high school classmate's boobs, observing them from different angles, wondering if they're real. Even I'm a little disgusted at how fascinated I am with them - I'm not the kind of girl who's particularly interested in breasts - but they're just so different from how I last saw them. SHE'S so different from how I last saw her.

And then it hit me - how different our paths are, since we went our separate ways after high school. I mean, we were never really close friends - actually, I didn't even know her that well - but I consider many of the people I went to high school with quite similar to me. Middle-class, Asian, reasonably good at school, reasonably well-behaving...

And here we are. She's...I think she's a shooter girl? A bartender? An alcohol promoter? And a "glamour model" (i.e. men's interest model) on the side, with very large, very fake breasts. (Side note: Why would someone so naturally well-proportioned and lovely make such a choice? Now she has a date with the knife every few years - so painful and scary and unnecessary. I hope it's at least made a huge difference in her income.) She has a boyfriend who looks like a total douche (not unlike her high school boyfriend, actually) who apparently makes enough money to buy her diamonds for Valentine's Day and to own a few very expensive cars.

I, on the other hand, am still an impoverished student, doing postgraduate studies, who just spent all my money applying to law school - to the point that I don't have any funds at all to buy anyone Christmas presents this year :( - still struggling in my quest to become self-sufficient. Single, by most definitions of the word, and, though not unfortunate-looking, not model-esque by any stretch of the imagination. Too chicken sh!t to go under the knife for anything that's not absolutely necessary for my health.

I guess I'm a little self-centered. I always thought that Asian girls my age are all doing what my friends and I are - going through too much school or starting to break out into the workforce doing jobs that require us to be, um, fully-clothed. Apparently that's not so!

Santa Stories

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Do you remember when you found out the truth about Santa Claus?

I honestly don't. I do remember, however, that I didn't let on that I found out for a year or two because I wanted that extra present. :P Sneaky, I know.

It's like the biggest but also the most well-meaning hoax in the world, Santa Claus. (If you're one of those crazy folks who argue that he's a satanic figure, blah, blah, blah, SCREW OFF GO AWAY and read something else!) Finding out about him though, seems to be a symbol of a loss of innocence, or an awakening of logic, depending on how you describe your glass.

I personally hate it when people don't play along (like one of my uncles, who very seriously broke the news to my cousin when she was in grade one) because I think children lose their innocence and become alarmingly cynical too soon these days, and particularly because their children tend to ruin it for everyone else's kids on the playground. Also, it's because I really like the idea that it's a big game that everyone plays together all over the world, that unites all of us, even though there are different interpretations in different countries.

A couple weeks ago, my sweet friend, Dutchman, enlightened me about Dutch Santa Claus (or, rather, Sinterklaas). He said that in North Holland, where he's from, children are told that Santa lives in Madrid. He travels on a steamboat from Spain to their country and then he gets on rooftops (to access chimneys, you know) with the help of his horse. I think it's much more reasonable for every country to have their own Santa, don't you?

Anyway, Dutch children put their shoes in front of the fireplace and Dutch Santa will put a small gift in them, like a bag of chocolates or some other treats - the Dutch aren't as materialistic as we North Americans are, you know. :P If they've been bad, however, they will only get a bundle of sticks. The horse helps Santa climb onto rooftops, so to award/attract him, children will leave "horse food" (like carrots or some other veggies) in their shoes for him. Oh, and their Santa is also not obese - more proof that he's not the same guy as his North American counterpart!

I asked Dutchman how and when he found out about Santa, and he said he was about seven or so. He said that he noticed that the food he left out for Santa's horse ended up back in his fridge the next day, so he put two and two together. So clever, right?

And you, how and when did you discover the truth about Santa? If you didn't grow up in North America, what were you told about him?

P.S. Happy Holidays!!! XOXOXO

This Is Why Some Girls Fall for the Creepers

I was having a nice dinner with a boy that I loved. It was really, really early into the relationship and we were still in the getting-to-know-you stage - in fact, we were so eager to find out anything and everything about each other that we were going through the pictures in each other's cell phones. He came across a photo of me where I was very heavily made up and bathed in flattering light, and my hair was professionally done. He asked me who it was and, surprised, I told him that it was me.

He looked totally flabbergasted, eyes wide open, and exclaimed (what would translate to), "No way! It can't be!"

I get that I look like two different people with and without makeup (see picture - but note that the one on the right wasn't the one we were disagreeing over), but really, was that necessary? I promised him that it really was me, and after a few back-and-forth denials and assurances, which eventually turned to vehement insistence on my part, he looked at my picture really closely and handed my phone back to me with his eyebrows still up in his hairline and told me, in his dreamy, exotic lilt, "Very beautyful."

Um, wasn't I very beautiful to him bare-faced, which was how he saw me most of the time? Sexy accent aside (I'm a sucker for those), I should have been annoyed with him. And I would have been, except I was TOTALLY besotted with him at the time and I was still gaga over a picture I found on his phone. It was a shot of his breastpocket, on the long, white jacket that he wears to work every day, with the words "Dr." and his surname embroidered across it. (Intelligence is the most potent aphrodisiac.)

Now, he was actually a really great guy and he made me feel a lot more beautiful than I ever thought I'd get to feel, but this is how guys seem to treat girls they don't think they need to impress anymore because they know they like them for sure. This is how they act when they feel like they don't have to always be on their best behaviour anymore.

Today, some rando just tried to add me on Facebook. I didn't recognize his name, but his photo didn't look totally unfortunate. He wrote:

"so after lookin at ur display pic ive decided u are drop dead gorgeous and even if u dont add me back i just had to let u know that you have a new # 1 fan and its me so keep on smilin babe"

Then I saw the groups he belonged to and was so disgusted I couldn't even look at his face anymore.

But disgustingness and poor punctuation aside, isn't it nice to be told out of the blue that you're drop dead gorgeous? Too bad random creepers tend to do it a lot more than boys I actually like. If only the boys I date would take a hint...

Being A "Pretty Girl"

I was on the phone with a bakery, ordering my mom’s favourite cake for her birthday.

“I want the one that’s heart-shaped and covered with pink and lavender cream roses.”

“In rows, right?”

“Right. The one with the groove marks in the side that makes it look like a basket.”

“Basket? There are no basket grooves on that one, pretty girl.”

Um, we were on the phone. How did she know what I look like? I wanted to reply, “Actually, my face is covered in warts and I have four boobs, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

There's this trend in Hong Kong culture, usually among blue-collar workers, male and female alike, where they address complete strangers directly as "pretty girl" and "handsome guy." It's distasteful and coarse and fake to me. And who are they kidding? It's not flattering to be called pretty or handsome when the ogre next to you is being addressed the same way. Just sayin'. :P

Bad Form

I've witnessed too many examples of bad form lately, so I thought I'd share.

*hitting on a girl you're old enough to father in a university eatery and bombarding her with texts full of improperly used big words while she's in class
Bad Form because: If you come off as a creepy, old man, you're not getting any girls. Even if you offer to ply her and her friends with alcohol. We're not prostitutes, and we were in between classes - hello?! And for the record, the phone number was very carefully wrested and not given voluntarily.
--> Side Note: Unless he's exceptionally good-looking, rich, famous, charismatic, successful, lucky, or any combination of the above, no man really has any business trying to snag a girl half his age or younger. Save it, old man.

*trying to get a girl to dance with you by shoving your butt in her personal space in the club FOUR TIMES
Bad Form because: If it didn't work the first three times, it probably won't again. And the thing was, he was kind of cute, even though he was drunk off his tree. If he just introduced himself and at least pretended to try to make conversation, I totally would've given him some time.

*trying to impress a girl with your conspiracy theories
Bad Form because: That's just like having "WEIRDO" printed on your forehead.

*just gripping a girl's hips on the dance floor to try to get her to dance with you
Bad Form because: That's just rude. It's an invasion of personal space. And unless a girl's very young or very insecure, it just won't fly.

*sending love letters to confess your feelings that goes something like: "I have nothing. I'm not good-looking, I'm not rich, I probably will never get rich, I have many character flaws, including laziness, impatience, a short fuse, etc. I'm not a genius. But I genuinely like you; all I have is my love for you. Be my girlfriend."
Bad Form because: If you're going to stomp yourself into the ground, why should anyone like you? What right do you have to ask for anyone's affection and love if you have absolutely nothing to offer? Go easy on the self-deprecation - it's not endearing.

Have you witnessed any other examples of bad form lately?

***Housekeeping message: I've been having my butt handed to me on a regular basis for the last while now, with school and other things going on. So instead of posting essay-length entries every time, I'm going to post more often, with shorter entries. Sometimes it'll be a few pictures with some captions, sometimes it'll be an anecdote...come check out often what I've been up to!

Car Egos

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Someone once said that she doesn't like it when a man calls her "Shorty" because it's not respectful, implies inferiority, etc. etc. I'd concede that it’s not the cutest pet name ever, but I have to say I don't mind that much...as long as the boy really is significantly taller than me. Because if a guy were only slightly taller than me, I'd feel like he was trying to soothe his ego by calling me short.

Don't get me wrong; I don't have a problem with short men. I don’t usually look down my nose on people based on their appearances, especially if it’s something they can’t help. And goodness knows I’m not exactly statuesque myself at 5’5” – not bad for a Chinese girl but slightly below average for a Canadian. But there's a variety of small men out there who are obsessed with proving…well, whatever it is they’re out to prove. They’re like chihuahuas – big dogs in small dogs’ bodies, or little dogs with loud voices and lots to say, depending how you look at things. And they always, always overcompensate for their smallness with big toys.

Like this guy I used to work with. He was this teeny, tiny man, with a teensy bald head and the biggest odour I’d ever had the displeasure to encounter. Every time something went wrong, he’d march his tiny, little legs up to the second floor to yell at me. He thought he could yell at me for anything that went wrong because I was new and female and young and therefore didn’t have enough brains or knowledge to fill an eggcup. Consequently, he embarrassed himself each and every time because I could always back my stuff up with a paper trail – they were inevitably his mistakes. But he yelled at me every time anyway, hoping to get me even once, because dogs are linear-thinkers and persistent like that.

He also liked to throw around unwelcome, suggestive comments that just bordered on sexual harassment. Just offensive enough to disgust me, but not quite bad enough to get him in trouble, and to other low-ranking people in my hearing instead of directly to me.

One day, I was pulling up to work, about to park when I passed by him getting out of his vehicle – and his car was enormous! Absolutely the hugest pearl white SUV I’d ever seen. As I glanced at him climbing out of that thing (using the step below the door, of course, because his legs were so short), I had to exercise a huge amount of restraint to stop myself from rolling down my window and asking if he was sure he can handle a monster like that.

So because of him, I learned that it’s totally true that (some) small men compensate for their smallness with big toys.

But I picked up an unpleasant piece of knowledge about myself recently, and that is that I, apparently, have a car ego, too.

Those of you who read me regularly might have noticed that I wrote a eulogy for my late car, Grasshopper, a couple posts ago. That’s because two weeks ago, I totalled it in my very first accident and the whole event made me very, very sad. Not having a car in Toronto is like not having legs, and Grasshopper was my first car.

My very sweet and supportive family sat me down on Saturday and told me that they were going to help me get a used car that was in really good condition. They would start making payments on it, and when I finish school and get a job, I’d take over paying for it. I was very moved and I’d been getting really excited about this new, little, red car. It’s four years old but it only has 35k kilometres on it, and most importantly, it’s fully loaded, with power locks, power windows and a sunroof! I was beginning to fantasize about impulsive mani-pedi getaways, romantic trips to the supermarket with the sunroof rolled open...

Then my mom called a good friend of hers to come take a look at the car with us, and he told me that I could stop looking because he had an old car that I could have. He had a friend that returned to Hong Kong and left his car here. Since he wasn’t going to use it, he said I could. It was super generous of him, and I could hardly believe my good fortune, but very honestly, it totally took the wind out of my sails because I was prepared to get a really cute car!

I went to see this new car, and it’s in even worse condition than my previous one. It needs a thorough cleaning inside and out, and it literally is a pile of rust. Part of the bumper is falling off. It’s even older than my old car, although the engine and transmission are new(ish). I was just speechless when I saw it because it wasn’t what I was getting all psyched about, but who am I to complain when it’s free? It’s financially going to be way easier because I’d only have to get liability insurance on it, like with my old car, and it really is SUCH a generous gesture...but I hope you can appreciate why my weekend went from jaw-droppingly awesome to just nice.

Then my best friend said to me, “If money is on the line, your car ego will have to take a hike.” She's right.

Thus, I have discovered that I, too, have a car ego - just like wee men. :P

Mixed Company of Yale: Single Asians

In light of all the interest my Yellow Fever posts have generated - this is too funny! I first saw this on Margaret Cho's blog.

Keep sending me your Yellow Fever stories! :D

Yellow Fever cont'd

So my last post started a lot of discourse. I love discourse! Who knew so many people had so much to say about Yellow Fever? (By the way, this post won't make much sense if you haven't read the post previous to this one, so scroll down if you need to!) I got a lot of great comments and stories, so I thought I’d address some of them:

What? Who wouldn't want to talk about anime? lol, j/k But I don't think all expats go because they have yellow fever and it could be nice that they have experienced your culture and might have a better understanding of you in some ways? I don't know... Obviously no one's ever come up to me and claimed to be super into me because of my ambiguous Western European origin, but I support that these people are missing out on getting to know a person by reducing them to a stereotype

True, not all expats have Yellow Fever. Some people are just really high up in their organizations and get sent places all over the world. Some have an honest interest in other cultures. My grandpa’s a romantic. :) The person who wrote this particular comment is my really good friend Sabrina, who’s teaching in Korea this year. Actually, girl, now that you’re living where you’re a minority, you might get one of these experiences – not that I wish it for you! But I know definitely that in Japan, a lot of people love your kind of look, so maybe in a nearby country...? Hee. Just teasing!

So I noticed you had a blog. I just read your Yellow Fever post. Really interesting. Although I'm obviously not Asian, I have definitely noticed this. When I went to China to teach English a good number (not all) of the *MALE* volunteers seemed to fetishize Chinese women. They would then degrade white women as being bad for relationships. We were rude and shallow, etc while Chinese women are cute and so soft-spoken and so on. They didn't seem to get that they were being just as offensive to the Chinese women as they were to the white women.

I have never thought that foreign teaching gigs can be breeding grounds for Yellow Fever Creepers! Ew, ew, ew. The guys you worked with are asswipes and don’t ever deserve to get laid.

I got another comment from a Chinese friend defending guys who exclusively date Asians saying that it’s because white girls are rude to them, that they cruelly reject them...but I think that’s an unfair stereotype, too. I get it that some people are once burned and twice shy, but they might be totally setting themselves up if they go for Asian girls strictly because they’re supposedly “gentler.” I’m Chinese, and trust me, I can cut a jerk down just as scathingly as a girl of any other colour can – and I’m not unique in this respect. :P

As for the yellow fever thing.. hmm i looked at it from a different perspective. Naturally raised on the outskirts of scarborough I was immersed in a culture that was not my own. Growing up,interacting, and socializing in an east asian community has created this comfort level. I mean Id rather eat at pho's than go to montanas. So maybe these ... Read moreindividuals you run into may be products of diaspora? Familiarity with a culture shouldn't be mistaken for obsessive creepers.. which is why its hard separating the diasporic individuals from the other kind; however when people fail to justify their connection/intrigue (and booty aint justification!) they're usually the ones to avoid. You will always find these pretenders in every cultural/religious aspect of society. Ignore them and burn any connective bridge they establish..In the end you are an multi-layered individual and that will probably shatter the "yellow fever individuals" 2 dimensional take on a culture and its people.

I totally agree; familiarity with a culture shouldn’t be mistaken for obsessive creepiness. But there’s preferring pho over Montana’s...and then there’s going up to random women with golden skin and dark eyes and saying the few words you know in “their language.” And shopping nearly exclusively in Asian supermarkets in the hopes of picking up. And getting Chinese or Japanese tattoos so that you have a conversation-starter with hot girls that you assume can read it...but I digress.

I think you hit the nail squarely on the head, my friend. The main issue I have with Yellow Fever is that we get stereotyped and clumped into a group instead of being valued as individuals. It’s just unfair and gross and wrong.

The other issue I have with this is that we’re stripped of our cultural identities. We’re all shoved under the umbrella of “Asians,” whereas usually, people from other parts of the world get their own identity – French, British, Italian, Greek, etc., instead of just “Occidental” or “Caucasian.” Every country has its own unique identity, but it doesn’t apply to us because we’re all Asian so we’re all supposedly the same, and we all supposedly look the same too, and have no personalities because we’re all a certain way. So wrong.


Now! I want to hear your Yellow Fever stories! I got sent some really fun ones, and I’m compiling them into a post sometime next week for your enjoyment. My life has been endless rounds of homework and projects and studying for the past month – do a girl a favour? It can have happened to you or you could’ve just been a witness, but it has to be real.

As always, I'm always here for you 24/7 at thesoapheiress(at)gmail.com

Get’em in! :D

For my initial post on Yellow Fever, click here