Christmas Alert!

Stop global warming now if you love Christmas! Reliable sources have claimed that Santa Clause might not have as much time delivering presents this year due to the fact that the North Pole is melting. The jolly old man and his elves are too busy fixing the leaks in their roof.

So douse that open fire that you are roasting your chestnuts on - they're releasing unprecedented amount of carbon dioxide. Instead of wrapping paper, just switch to the generic, brown recycled paper bags that they give out at Macy's. And last but not least, don't harbor those fugitive reindeer - their overgrazing is causing desertification and our loss of carbon sinks.

Any other ideas to save Christmas?

What I really need

To do lists just stress me out because I'm constantly being reminded of reasons why I'm not on top of my game. Maybe I should just put up more lists like these:

Copyright-worthy word

Last night, my friends and I were going strong hitting the econ books at 1 a.m. (which was not a good idea since our test was at 7 a.m. this morning). Somewhere in between trying to figure out the myriad of questions on how much ice cream sundae Ooh Soofat (seriously) likes to eat, talking about things like circumcision and drinking milk, and eating a chocolate mug cake at midnight, we came up with a fabulous new word:

FEMONOPOLY :[fem-muh-no-puh-lee]
- noun, plural- ies

1. Exclusive female control over/access to the boys in a certain area
2. The dating market condition where there is one girl to multiple guys
3. Example: In a study group situation

Disclaimer: I was not the only girl in my study group so I'm guessing that my situation was a competitive market where you better be the most efficient at attracting "buyers" (min Average total cost = price = marginal cost!).

In awe.

She's my idol.

Girl clad in black stiletto-heeled leather boots over her designer jeans.

Walking precariously on the slippery black ice.

While pushing a baby pram.

Presumably with a baby inside, scared for his/her life.

She's pregnant too.

Worse, she's headed for a downhill slope.

I guess that's what married women do for kicks.

Giving up on you.

I'm sorry. I'm done. It was fun while it lasted. But now I'm all burned out - you are too confusing. I'm not negating everything between us - I do admit that there are those rare moments when I think I understand you better than anything else. But just when I think I've got you figured out, you throw another curve ball at me. Are you playing hard to get? Cos I'm not playing with you anymore. This is me packing up, cutting my losses, and going home.

And for some reason, you, my battered Econ 380 notes, are coming with me. See, I told you, I am whipped.

I'm already twenty and a half! (and behind the game?)

I am stressing out. You may point to my piles of papers to write, finals to study for, and a messy room to clean as the reasons. No, those concerns of mine pale in comparison to this one. Yeah, I'm stressing out about the idea of retiring.

People say that you need to start saving/ investing young, and as soon as possible to accrue interest. Recently, I've been hearing the time value of money ticking ominously over my shoulder. I spent two hours yesterday skimming through various mutual funds trying to figure out which one will be the best for my retirement needs. Or rather, retirement wants. I want to travel around the world (but hopefully I can do that with my husband and children while we're all still young), to have a library in my house replete with the swinging ladder showcased in Beauty and the Beast, to have people over for dinner every week, to serve missions, to sponsor children in China to get their education, to work for free at an NGO . . . and the list goes on.

Sighing, I went over the various mutual fund prospectuses over and over again. Maybe I should also look into college funds for my kids while I'm at it.

Mail time!

One thing I hate about being a grown-up is that opening mail is no longer fun anymore. Here's what I got today in the mail: electricity bill, gas bill, 2 bank statements, catalogs with coupons of "$50 off if you buy $250", and the never ending medical bills. The coolest thing I've ever received was a recipe from a loan-officer. I bet he has never even cooked once in his life.

The only saving grace is that I love reading the fine print on the back of credit card ads with bright orange signs that yell "You're prequalified!" I love chewing on the end of my black ball-point, expertly circling the areas where they could potentially scam me for a lot of money. It's sort of my way of showing them that even though I love the vivid colors, the bold fonts, and the sheen of the glossy ad, I'm not sold. At least not yet. (I'm still waiting for one that smells nice.)

Since my parents don't live here but have a lot of their mail sent to my house, I get to open their mail as well. My dad's mail is a lot more interesting. You know that you've arrived in the world when you get mail that tells you what a valuable member you are of a community that you don't even live in. He gets birthday cards from banks, opera ticket offers from clubs, and invites to luncheons at the Marriott School. Whoever says that there are no free lunches in this world just doesn't know my dad.

Oh yeah Dad, I forgot to tell you - you've got mail!