[2012 Suggestions, Not Resolutions.]

Keep up the reading. You’ve already read two books in 2012, so you’re off to a good start, but don’t pull a you and fall off the wagon. Force yourself to read fiction, because it’s the only way you actually get out of your own head, and you desperately need to do that right now. Force yourself to read non-fiction, because there’s a world out there beyond sparkly things and paintings and your heart that you need to understand. Keep your subscriptions to Vogue and Vanity Fair and Rolling Stone if you must, but you liked Business Week in high school and the WSJ in college, so maybe add one of those too.

Keep discovering new (or new to you) music. Over the last couple of years, you’d forgotten how alive it makes you feel. Remember when you used to go to shows a few times a month? Find a friend who loves seeing live music as much as you do, and start going again.

And how about running a little more? You always have grand ideas about starting up an exercise regime, but you really hate it so you always fail. But anything is better than nothing, which is why you ran one little mile last night and why you’ll run another this weekend and another next week. And it wouldn’t hurt to work on your abs a little too, ya know.

While we’re on the subject, Chubs, let’s lose a little weight. You've gained sooo much since you moved to DC, and it’s gross. Your recent the-boy-I-was-going-to-marry-broke-up-with-me-and-stopped-speaking-to-me-overnight-and-then-started-dating-Kristin-Krueger-right-in-front-of-me diet over the last two months has helped you drop 15 pounds like *that* (everyone should try it sometime!), but the whole too-sick-to-your-stomach-to-eat thing won’t last forever, so you’ll need to figure out another, more healthy approach soon.

Keep trying new things. They don’t always have to be big and they don’t always have to involve crooning in front of a crowd, but they should be things that are hard for you. You went to a stranger’s reception last week—your knee jerk reaction was to refuse, because you hate big groups and strangers, and weddings are particularly painful these days, and the combination of the three is your worst nightmare—but you went, got to play with sparklers for the first time, grew closer to an amazing person, and enjoyed yourself. And this week you posted a video of yourself playing piano to the world (or the three people who have watched it), which was terrifying, but you did it. Push yourself. It’s hard, but you’ll be better off.

And let’s think about bulking up your religious studies a bit. You’ve had the daily scripture reading thing down for years—it’s important to you and your life is like night and day without it, so you’re not going to stop. But there are other things you can be reading too, like General Conference talks and biographies of your religious leaders and even texts from other faiths, that will teach you and help you grow. Also, last semester, you committed to completing an Institute class from start to finish for the first time, and you did it! Now let’s do it again.

You’re so lucky to have the friends and family (and roomies!) you have, but you need to take care of them better, because that’s really why we’re all here. You’ve been wrapped up in your own little cocoon a lot recently, and it’s kind of understandable, but the time has come to check yoself—you and your little life are probably not the biggest deal in the world (what?!), but helping and loving others, even and especially beyond your circle of friends and family, is.

Finally, let’s think a little more positively, shall we? Because of just one person, you’ve been feeling pretty badly about yourself for the last little while, dwelling on all that is wrong and negative and crappy about you. And it’s been made clear to you that there’s plenty. But every now and then it wouldn’t hurt to try, even though it’s hard, to remember a good thing about yourself, okay? If nothing comes to mind, start with your teeth. You have good teeth. And, bizarrely, manicurists always compliment your nail beds. So...... you have that going for you.

You can do this. 2012, let's go.

(P.S. It also wouldn’t kill you to start brushing your hair every now and then or do laundry more than four times a year. Just sayin’.)

[On karaoke and changes.]

On Saturday night a group of us went to karaoke to celebrate my roommate's birthday. Originally she was planning to just have a small cake and ice cream party at our house, but Domineau and I were lovingly appalled at her minimalist approach to her birthday and decided to overhaul the weekend. (Don't mess with us. We get our way. Especially when we're unified, and especially when it comes to birthdays.) So we all karaoke-d our hearts out.

Not to, like, get too deep about a silly night out, but this was kind of a big deal for me, people. (I'm about to chatter about my life. You may stop reading, scroll down, and enjoy the pictures. I won't hold it against you.) Recently I've experienced a lot of changes, some of my choosing, some not. Something I have chosen to do is to start creating a little life out here for myself--by making more friends, trying new things, embracing experiences beyond my teeny tiny comfort zone--something I've never (felt I) had the time or ability or interest to do until lately. I'm often a dazzling combination of stubborn, insecure, and vain, so traditionally I'm loathe to do things I don't want to do, or things I don't do well, or things that will embarrass me, but I now see that that isn't a way to live, at least not for me. I can't really live in my own little bubble, in isolation from people and things that are unfamiliar to me. Times like my past month have a painful, beautiful way of making one acutely aware of one's faults, weaknesses, and ugliness...all of which I have so much...and I've identified past patterns and mistakes that I plan never to repeat, and which I sincerely hope to correct, if given the opportunity. Anyway, bringing this discussion back down from la la land, I'd been karaoking before, but only years ago, in college, and certainly never in a particularly clear state of mind, so choosing to participate (and suggesting it in the first place!), was a little personal victory, because it's maybe the last thing I would have done even just a few months ago. And you know what? I had the. best. time. So much so that I sang not one, but two songs (with buddies, of course...baby steps, people), first delivering a groundbreaking rendition of "Friends in Low Places" with the lovely Shannon, then a googly-eyed performance of "Wonderwall" with new friend Wayne. Yep, I only mess with classics. And when I wasn't up front, I sang and cheered and laughed myself hoarse, and I'm pretty sure I would have blessed the crowd with my vocals about five more times if the birthday girl hadn't been too sleepy to stay longer.

Pay attention to the cute boys and girls, not my gross, post-temple baptism hair.

And then......the diva hand came out. And out she stayed. Probably the most significant discovery of the night.

Also, unrelated to my diva hand, but very important--can we discuss how good looking that Scott is? Photogenic, that one is.... And shout out to Lindsey, who I didn't capture well enough to include here, but who rocked the night away too!

[22-23: A year, Milan style.]

Pictures from my birthday dinner at Mie N Yu.

How to be 22, by me.


You celebrate turning 22 with a killer party on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. Have a lot of fun, but look back on the greasy-haired pictures and cringe - why didn't you wash your hair that day!? Say goodbye to your love from 17-22 forever (but escape to Vegas for a last-hurrah weekend a few months later with him anyway). You stop breathing, so you rebound. Rebound again. Rebound again, again. And then you're at least a little distracted, and can breathe again, a little. Meanwhile, significantly enhance your little resume by completing an amazing internship at the Guggenheim, which will give you a lot of art world street cred and some really great filing skills. Then it's the night before your last day of college, and the paper due at midnight is only 1/3 done, and then suddenly it's 3 a.m., and you're only 2/3 done, then somehow it's the next morning, and you turn the paper in, and you go to your last class, and then it's over, and you tell the strangers in the elevator, "That was my last class of college," in an elevator appropriate voice, but really you want to SCREAM it....

A few weeks later you march across a stage in a light-blue gown that makes you look tan, which you quite appreciate, and they hand you a paper that reads, "You did it! Our bad for the sleepless nights you spent cramped up in Butler Library and the incomprehensible TAs and the occasional vermin you found in your dorms and for admitting that one boy from whom you're still recovering and for preventing you from learning French by only having classes that took place at 9 a.m. on Friday mornings which you obviously refused to attend...our bad. But you did it. In fact, you did it rather well and only gained a little weight throughout the whole ordeal, and you can now waltz around the world knowing that you graduated from an Ivy League institution. You win. You did it." Or it may say something else, but you'll never know, as you never took Latin. That day you had woken up an unemployed undergraduate, but, after receiving a job offer in the mail, you go to bed a graduate of Columbia University and a future employee of the Smithsonian Institution.

Six weeks later you move to Washington, D.C., nearly inconsolable with woe and self-pity. You don't want to leave New York. You don't want to leave your friends. You don't want to leave the Strand or Fifth Avenue or the Met or Central Park or that one little hole-in-the-wall Korean restaurant on 32nd Street. But leave them all you do, because something inside you whispers "Go!" (and you know better than to ignore it). On the Fourth of July on the steps of the Jefferson Memorial, your life changes, but you won't realize it until months later.

The next several months are filled with firsts: First apartment. (love) First time living with Mormon girls. (weird) First real paycheck. (sweet) First bills. (@#$*) First time all your friends are Mormon. (boring) First antique purchase. (baller) First time living in the suburbs. (gross) First grown-up relationship. (scary) You learn and change and grow, and you develop a healthy love/hate for your new life, with less hate and more love than you'd anticipated or wanted.

After New Year's you take a few difficult steps as you try to become a little more of whoever you're going to be. These include applying to and getting accepted into two graduate programs in the History of Decorative Arts, which will lead you further into the uncertain arts world but closer to your passions and inspirations. You love a boy, but you leave a boy, and then you buy your first antique book and your first Kate Spade purse. You also take to twirling. And meltdowns. A lot of meltdowns. Uncertainty and worry, but also some peace.

By the time you turn 23, you're a different person than the 22 year old you, and lightyears away from from the 21 year old you (thank GOODNESS). You still don't wash your hair every day. You still forget to ask people about their day, and you still eat like a linebacker. You still judge people based on where they went to school, you still wear too much eye makeup, and you still fall asleep in movies. You still don't like talking to strangers or talking at all. But you're also kinder. You read your scriptures everyday. You love more and better, and you're more thoughtful. You're gentler, more communicative, and more inclusive. And you value family more, especially Mom.


You celebrate 23 with parties, friends, and loves, and you're happy.


The end.




I know this birthday post is almost a month late. Whatever. My blog.

state of the cha cha.

to elaborate on the previous post, i am now:

:: highly educated ::

...or so they say. in may, i graduated from columbia university, where i spent four years researching the optimal ratio of sleep to caffeine. concurrently, i earned an enormously practical degree in art history--i now know how the muslim principle of tawhid relates to decorative islamic mosaic, why you can flip a urinal on its side and call it art, and that classic greek columns are either male or female, among other useful tidbits. i also devoted some time to attending themed frat parties, stalking fellow columbia student and ridiculously good looking celeb james franco in the library, and gallivanting around manhattan--but only after i had finished studying, mom and dad!

in all seriousness, though--i'm tremendously grateful for my college experience. i had the opportunity to attend a world class institution, learn from professors who literally wrote the books on their subjects, and be surrounded by brilliant, diverse, and enchanting individuals. everyone "finds" themselves in college--i did, but only after first losing myself a little too. manhattan has a way of making one feel simultaneously isolated and smothered, and i found that i had to fight (sometimes even against myself) to find peace and just be me. the beauty of the struggle, though, was that after working so hard to pull myself out of the little ditches i sometimes dug myself into, i came out of it all happier than ever before, knowing what i believed, what i wanted, and what i didn't want. that's learning, folks!

:: a bureaucrat ::

i now work for a living, which is simultaneously exhilarating, terrifying, humbling, and gratifying. something tells me that it's sort of inappropriate to discuss work on a personal blog, so i won't say much about it, other than that i do development and fundraising for an amazing museum that rhymes with shmishmonian.

:: new DC resident ::

okay, saying i live in DC is sort of like when people say they live in LA, but they actually live in the valley...which infuriates me, so i'll be more precise: i live in arlington, va, but my commute into the city is exactly seven minutes...so it almost counts. in spite of what my earlier post might have suggested, DC is a really lovely, beautiful city, and i've enjoyed getting to know the area.

arlington amuses me...coming from LA and NYC, i feel like i now live in the sticks, but people have informed me that this is a pretty standard suburb. i remain unconvinced. i live across the street from a neighborhood park, everyone i know lives within a mile radius of me, and the most happening part of town is a one block-long stretch of restaurants. cute.

:: single, kind of bilingual, and not-so-ready to mingle ::

i know you all loved him. i did too. but we needed to move on, possibly for forever, but definitely for now. five years was a long time, especially for someone as young as i was, and i'll carry those years with me always.

since then, i've gone on some dates, spent time with some guys...but i think i need to master the art of being on my own for the first time before entertaining the thought of anything...anyone...significant. but who knows? i always need someone to play 3D monopoly with... :)

___

i've now lived here almost three months,

and i've had a pretty fabulous time so far.

stay tuned for more of my life and times!

greetings, earthlings.

Let me just get this out there—this is not a blog about dance. I am not, nor will I ever be, interested in the cha-cha-cha, though if you happen to be, go here. I am, however, immensely interested in me—as most twenty-somethings are (interested in themselves, that is, not me).

When I was a kid, I went almost exclusively by “Cha Cha”—so much so that, when Grandma Katie would ask me my name, my two year old self would respond, “Cha Cha Diguez!” As most nicknames do, “Cha Cha” ultimately faded into relative obscurity, I assume around the time I began kindergarten (something tells me Mrs. Plowman wouldn’t have let the whole “Cha Cha Diguez” misnomer fly). Luckily, Grandma Katie, ever the classic, has not only miraculously preserved her jet-black hair, but has also kept the “Cha Cha” nickname alive and well.

To those of you who have known me since the Cha Cha days—the fam (hi Mom!), the nannies (look how I’ve grown! Or not, if you were my nanny post-4th grade…), and the oldies-but-goodies best friends (scarred witnesses of the disastrous glasses/braces/bushy hair combo)—this is for you.

To more recently acquired friends, acquaintances, and random strangers—it’s for you too, though I doubt you have built up the years of tolerance to me that the above have...

The past few months have been exciting and jarring—I graduated from school and began my first job, leaving behind the relatively carefree lifestyle of a student and reluctantly adopting the early-to-bed, early-to-rise schedule of a worker bee. I moved from beautiful, frenzied, alive Manhattan to the sleepy, not-so-exciting D.C. suburbs. And I’m attempting to move on from the boy I loved since I was seventeen to other pastures...not greener, perhaps just a different shade.

So since I can’t seem to muster up the self-discipline to keep up my journal, this feeble, embarrassing, probably TMI effort at documenting these changes will have to suffice. I hope you enjoy it, and feel free to comment!


Welcome to my life.