it just takes so much to break a habit

Past couple nights I've resurrected one of my favorite childhood tapes. It's called "Jammin' 5 a Day" and it's all about eating fruits and vegetables.

We loved this tape! I can still sing along to most of the songs (and I still love them -- I had an epic dance party by myself the other day). But I'm afraid that the intent (to make us think that fruits and veggies are to be desired) has kind of flopped.

Or, really flopped.

My youngest sister counts it a great accomplishment that she can now eat a whole baby carrot at lunch!*

The rest of our family is better, but we still don't love veggies. Not even when they have, ahem, "Phytochemicals! They fight to protect your health! Fruits and vegetables, something something something, get some for yourself!"

We've never had broccoli at home in my life, despite the song insisting that broccoli is "A real cool veggie."

Oh well.

I think, now that we're done watching "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs,"** I'm going to turn the tape on again! Yay!


"White Light" ~ Vienna Teng


*She has improved a lot; she used to throw up at the thought of ingesting a pea.
**I came in about 20 min after the movie started, but got the gist; it was nice until the last 15 minutes when it got just a little bit too creative. And the credits were trippy.

I've no intention of confessing today

Today in Relief Society we were talking about communication. In theory, I am such a huge fan of communication. In practice, I tend to fail.

The topic of the day was Elder Bednar's talk "More Diligent and Concerned at Home." While on the subject of telling your family you love them, a girl raised her hand and said, "This is good advice for dating relationships too; we need to be open and honest about the way we feel. In fact, this is what I like about [boy she's marrying this week]...."

This is something I've long been a proponent of -- ever since my Marriage Prep class last year, where we discussed communication (and various derivative topics) for most of the semester. We even learned a new way to DTR that employs good communication skills. I love the idea of not having to play guessing games.

Well, turns out, when it comes to practical application, I am not open and honest about the way I feel. I've had interactions with one or two boys since Marriage Prep (not since today's Relief Society lesson though[1]) and I hardly ever feel the urge to tell them where I think the relationship is (something should be in quotes there, but I'm not sure which part). I shouldn't be afraid to tell anyone "Hey, I'm glad that we are friends" or "I'm interested in you, just for your information" or "Please leave me alone, I'm not enthusiastic about our friendship" etc.

Oh well. I am.

Consider this post a resolve to do better. If I feel like telling someone how I feel about them, I'm going to do it. If I don't feel like saying anything, I guess I won't.

It'll be easier if everyone I know makes the same resolve.


"Unwritten Letter #1" ~ Vienna Teng


[1] You know why this is? It's because the clock in the Relief Society room is 5 minutes fast!

there's not even a wire

I slept downstairs last night. Supposedly that's a pretty big step for me, but I was just too hot upstairs (in the guest room/my invalid room) and I missed Goggy (the name isn't sticking quite so well as I'd hoped -- I still call her the other name in my head), so I went downstairs. While there, I had a great idea! Unfortunately, I'm fairly sure I've never had an original idea in my life, so I know someone else has thought of this, but here it is: You know how "bed" actually looks like a bed? I was thinking that we should manufacture beds that look like that! The b and d would look the same on both side but the e would have to switch directions. It wouldn't be too hard. And they'd probably be popular.

So that was my idea.

I also want to tell the story of my trip down to the hospital on Friday, and why I now feel like I can just go sleep downstairs.

I went to get my drain removed. JP? That's what they called it this time, though I'm not familiar with the terminology. Basically, it's a tube in my leg that siphons out the excess fluid. It was really long and cumbersome, so it's always nice to get it out.

So, the doctor asks me how I'm doing. I said, "Fine, except every time I change positions my nerves shoot up my leg." Apparently that wasn't normal! I said, "Oh. Great."

They sat me in the chair and the PA got all ready to pull the drain out (they just pull it! It's firm in my leg and they just pull it right out!) All of a sudden the doctor asked me, "What did you have for breakfast?"

"What?"

"What did you have for breakfast? Toast, bagel?"

"Oh, you're trying to distract me! I had a muffin." Right then I felt the pull begin, but tried to concentrate on my conversation.

"A muffin? What kind?"

"Um, blueberry. I didn't like it very much. And for lunch I had -- HOLY COW MY FOOT'S GOING CRAZY!!!"* And I burst into tears.

Rosalie, the PA, gathered up the drain and apologized profusely. Dr. Jones came over and patted my shoulder.

Still crying, I insisted, "I'm fine! Really, I'm over it, it just hurt a lot with the nerves. I'll stop crying any minute." Rosalie handed me some tissues, still apologizing. "Really, it's okay," I said. "Remember last time, when it was like three feet long?"

"Oh yeah!" she said. "You always make me hurt people!" she accused the doctor.

My foot was only slightly tingling now, so I got up and ... smiled? Probably. I like to smile a lot. My mom and I thanked the doctor and Rosalie and made our way out. But before we left, Dr. Jones stopped us to talk about the recent political developments. Pretty sure we're his favorite patients because we agree with him.

Two days later, my foot is still slightly numb, but I assume that will pass once my sciatic nerve has recovered from having the drain so near unto it. Now that my drain is no longer irritating it, though, it's like I'm magically almost better. I kept forgetting to use my walker yesterday (right now I don't even know where it is) and that silly nerve thing that was going on has stopped!

The End.

I think this story is much better if I tell it in person, because I can use gestures: "She pulled it...the nerves tingled like this..."

*I can't actually remember what I said here, nor can I exactly remember the pain. I think my brain blocked it out because of its wrongness...it gives me weird feelings to think about it.

I just wanted to tell that story because it makes me look cool for having a numb foot.


"Transcontinental, 1:30 a.m." ~ Vienna Teng

a striking dark-eyed stranger

I think I'd like to make a complaint about boys, so Chilly doesn't feel quite so cheated.

Every once in a while, I'll meet someone through a mutual friend and be so ... he'll just have a light about him. (Much like Hobbes in this here question.) He'll have that wholesome attractiveness, and be nice, and I'll just think, "Yep, I want someone like that."

Invariably, he'll either already be dating someone, or shortly begin dating someone. Usually the friend that introduced us.

What I need to do, obviously, is hone my homewrecker skills. I'm known for that. That way I can steal the men I want.

So, that's my complaint, and my plan of action.

I could also complain about having to use a walker again, and how I still feel sick from either anesthesia or painkillers, but that's not nearly as exciting.

"Mission Street" ~ Vienna Teng

you've got half-formed sentences

I'm sitting here -- no wait, lounging here -- on my bed, writing this letter -- well, actually, I haven't started yet, even though I've been planning to write it for, oh, over a week --

I like to say that I'm writing my favorite missionary, but I've been notoriously bad at correspondence, especially considering some of the other missionaries I've written -- notably that one who forced me to write once a week for all seven months he was out...

There's something different about this missionary. She's a girl, for one thing. I can't deny that my motivations for writing her are different (in some ways) than writing a guy. She likes to hear about different things, too (never once did any of my gentleman correspondents request to hear how things were going with [insert boy's name here]). I can go all out and work for hours on her letters and not risk her thinking that if I'm expending all this effort I must like her -- she already knows I do!

There's something different about this letter, too. Unless my letter-writing habits improve dramatically in the next few weeks, this will be the last letter. She'll be home in March. So, really, I have plenty of time to squeeze another letter in, but that's kind of the point -- I probably won't.

What does one say in a last letter to a friend who has been so good to write through her whole mission?

I just went to look at the copies of "last letters" I have on the computer. They weren't helpful. (Though, dude, DZ! I was so clever to use GRE vocab words in your letter when I was studying. I sounded so smart.)

I guess I'll just say the usual.

And sign it with Love.

Maybe I'll have the chance to write her again anyway, right?


"Shasta (Carrie's Song)" ~ Vienna Teng

I want to search for her in the offhand remarks

Apologies (?) for not posting in so long; I have had things to say, but I really, really didn't want this blog to become "Leslie Complains about her hair and boys Extravaganza" because that's pretty boring.

So! I will avoid mentions of those topics. Instead, I will discuss something I noticed last night.

We were watching Inkheart. My brother started it in the middle so I've only seen about half of it -- think that was enough. I couldn't even make it through the book (or if I did, anything past the first few chapters made no impression on me -- it was a long time ago) but I thought the movie was okay. Especially since it was pretty clearly over at the end.

What interested me was, when I would point out a plot hole like, "If they just doused the place with gasoline, they shouldn't have to go up and down every hall setting it afire," or "If she knows that her mom's going to be killed by the Shadow anyway, she has no incentive to read it out of the book," my dad would say, "I was just thinking that!"

Sorry for any spoilers that may have occurred in that paragraph.

It's clear to me that my dad and I have a similar wavelength when watching movies. I can't think of any specific examples besides last night, but I'm pretty sure similar interchanges have happened before. My dad's pretty cool.

And then my mom! We're on a similar wavelength too. We take gold at synchronous sighing. We'll often say the same thing when replying to my sisters. Finishing each other's sentences is pretty common too. We spent a lot of time together this summer (and, I guess, the past semester as well) and the number of times I would say something and she would say, "Yeah, I was just thinking that," even if it was totally random and not related to the topic at hand, is impressive.

So, here's the big question: if I'm so much like my parents in this way, how is it that my siblings and I are so very different? Did I just win the "Most Like Parents" award? I think that must be it.

Ha ha!

"Recessional" ~ Vienna Teng

it's the season of grace

The other day I was chatting with a friend, and he asked me how I go about setting priorities. I thought out loud about it (and by "out loud" I mean "into the chat box") and was generally unhelpful for a while as I thought about what priorities I have and why they are that way.

Then I came across my one piece of good advice, that I have continued to think about the past couple days.

I set my priorities depending on who will be disappointed if I don't complete x. I work hard as a secretary because disappointing Brother G is one of the worst things I could do. I worked hard as a student so I didn't disappoint myself with poor grades. I work hard at doing ... fun things so I don't disappoint ... my natural man. I clean my room every few weeks because it disappoints my parents when I don't.

When I was doing physical therapy last November, I had the absolute hardest time doing my exercises regularly. I didn't know the therapist, and didn't really care if they all got mad at me for not doing them (come to think of it, I still have a problem with this...) but when I told my friend that I wasn't doing my exercises, he would remind me almost every day. I cared what he thought of me and my diligence, so I did my exercises. Sometimes.

Church things ... I struggle with sometimes. I was wondering why when I realized: Too often I think of God as someone more abstract than, say, my friends. I think less about disappointing Him because he's not right there to look disappointed at me. This is a problem, obviously, and since I realized it I've been trying to remedy it.

Brother G, besides being my boss, is YM President in our ward and a family friend. Last Sunday he gave a talk with a nice little insight I would like to share, since it kind of ties in to what I was saying. It was the Christmas program, of course, and he mentioned how there was no room at the inn for the Savior so they put him off to the side in the stable.

Then he said something like, "I think we also tend to put the Savior off to the side in a stable in our hearts instead of his rightful place on the throne."

We hear things like that every year, but I still like this one. It's helped me a lot this week.

"The Atheist Christmas Carol" ~ Vienna Teng

[slightly ironic, yes?]

photographs framed in reeds

So, my sisters and my mom are going through our photo albums for pictures to scan onto the computer. My second scrapbook (the one they handed to me) is very short; come high school I had very few photos taken.

I did, however, have quite a few pictures of me and our fake sister the day after Homecoming, when our hair was still done and in our lovely dresses. I love that dress; it's the only formal I've ever owned and I got it for less than $40[1]. After staring at the photos of us for a while, I went downstairs and decided to try it on once more.

(It still fits.)

As I stared at myself in the mirror, I felt very wistful. I thought about the times I've worn that dress (one high school Homecoming, one college Homecoming), the time I planned to wear it and ended up in the hospital all weekend instead, and the times I could hope to wear it. I don't know if I'll ever have the chance to wear it again, which makes me sad and reveals my lack of faith in dating.

But then I started really looking, and my thoughts changed direction. In all those pictures my hair was wonderfully coiffed -- curled or straight, it was long and gorgeous. Today, it's short and spiky (I woke up with incredible bedhead and never bothered to fix it because I stay at home all day anyway) and while it's soft it's not ... pretty. It'll be years before I can count my hair one of my beauties again. So it doesn't matter if I don't get to wear my beloved dress for years and years, because I won't look right. It's the kind of dress a princess wears, not a punk.

Oh well. At least I'm alive and healthy, right?

"Pontchartrain" ~ Vienna Teng

[1]Let me tell you, after going wedding dress shopping with my sister, where the cheapest dress is just under $500, I feel even luckier to have made that purchase.

strange how you fit into me

I should be working on devotionals right now, but I just hit a dead end -- a talk that is referenced in the Teaching Resources Manual for the scripture block is actually a video on my list ... but there's an apostrophe in the title that means the file is lost (don't ask me why, but this isn't the first time it's happened). I am saddened by this -- it's not often I have a perfect fit for the block, and now I can't even use it -- so I will drown my sorrows in a blog post.

I've been editing my previous post with new languages Moodle keeps telling me my page is in. So, er, check that out.


Sunday afternoon, when I was in Provo, I was so tired and my friend let me sleep in her bed. I had a nice nap (I don't even take naps but I succeeded, which gives you a measure of my exhaustion), and I think it was a bit because of her Cuddle-Monkey. She has a nice little stuffed monkey on her bed that her missionary gave her, and I ended up using it and slept so well.

So, last night I was thinking about it and saw, in my closet, a little white dog. She* was in a big canvas bag full of all the goodies I got from the hospital my first month. Scrapbooking materials, another blanket ... they treat you well at Primary Children's if you're there for Bingo day. I also found the socks my home teachers got me for my birthday that I couldn't find for the life of me.

Anyway, so I got the little Goggy out and cuddled with her. She was nice and soft but I fondly (if vaguely -- chemo does that) remembered a lovely stuffed bear that I got as a prize for one of the Bingo days. I slept with it constantly the whole time I was there ... then left it in the hospital. Very sad.

I still slept pretty well last night. Slept right through scriptures (again). But I've been thinking about this.

So, my friend got her Cuddle-Monkey from her missionary. I have decided that it would be nice for my fiance to get me a soft cuddly thing for an engagement present or wedding gift, if he doesn't want to make me a clock. And if I don't just fall in love with Goggy and spurn all other stuffed animals. Wouldn't it be sweet, though?

Yep. I'll file that away in "things-about-me-that-may-come-in-useful-later-if-I-don't-change-my-mind."


*Knowing my luck, it's probably a boy dog. But I named it a girl name first thing (though I've decided against the name since and now call it Goggy) so ... it's a girl now.


"Eric's Song" ~ Vienna Teng**

**By the way...went to her concert on Saturday. It was amazing! I'm so glad I went. Had a great time with Nathaniel (and Kyra and Kevin too)! Hurrah.

and the words, they're everything and nothing

I recently added Google Toolbar. As I tootle along in our online classroom Moodle, Google Translate sometimes says the weirdest things:

This page is in Polish. Would you like to translate?
This page is in Hungarian. Would you like to translate?
This page is in Bokmal. Would you like to translate?
This page is in Swedish. Would you like to translate?
This page is in Slovak. Would you like to translate?
This page is in Czech. Would you like to translate?
This page is in Lithuanian. Would you like to translate?
This page is in Danish. Would you like to translate?
This page is in Simplified Chinese. Would you like to translate?

Never Romanian, though. Even though we have a Romanian class. Or Portuguese, despite our Brasilian class.

About 1/8 of the time (if that) I do actually want to translate from one of the above languages, but even then I'm finding Google Toolbar a bit ... tiresome, because then I have to translate back. Google and its plenitude of free products unsettles me in general.

Oh well.

"Recessional" ~ Vienna Teng