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An Open Letter To My Facebook Friends

Dear Facebook Friends:

Hi.  How is everyone doing?

I’m writing this letter to all of you, my 645 closest, bestest, most wonderful friends in the world.  For some of you, I still don’t remember who you are, but I’m sure we shared an unmistakable bond that led us to become Facebook friends in the first place.  Bret, are you the guy from the “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk” bar?  If so, please confirm.  Chris, I think I threw up in your car once.  I’m sorry.  And lastly, Miguel… I do not know you, but you are my only friend named Miguel, so you are staying.  Yay, FRIENDS!

Now that we’re nearing the end of 2011, I feel that I should pull a Hilary Duff and “come clean”1 about my utter failure on Facebook this year.  I’ve been a terrible Facebook friend to most of you, and you don’t deserve that.  You deserve more.  Much more.  Especially you, Miguel.  So, I am writing to apologize to everyone that I have virtually neglected this year.  In particular, I deeply regret the following:


I apologize to all my friends whose birthdays I’ve missed this year.  I know that you were just waiting for me to post a thoughtful message on your wall, indicating to you that a) I was on Facebook that day, and b)… Well, that I was on Facebook that day.  So for all the walls I didn’t write on, the birthdays I didn’t acknowledge, and the friendships I inevitably ruined, this is what I would have written:  “Happy birthday!!”   See?  There.  The double exclamation mark is what really sells it, telling you that I was truly excited, that I was pumped, that I knew it wasn’t just an ordinary day, but the actual anniversary of your birth!

(Of course, for my fundamentalist Christian/anti-abortion friends, you know that life begins way before birth.  So, please give me the date of your conception so I can wish you a Happy Conceptionday! instead.  Yay, LIFE!!)


To all my friends who got engaged, married, or knocked up this year, here is my heartfelt message: “Sooooo happy for you!!!”  And really, I am happy, thrilled, over the moon, jumping for joy, doing heel clicks down the street, shouting to the sky, arms wide, eyes closed, big grin, feeling all rainbows and butterflies and sun and smiles, so freaking happy for your happiness and blah blah blah get a room.  So of course, I won’t write that your new fiancé is, at best, a 3 to your 7.  And I won’t mention that your new baby’s limbs look like overcooked sausage links strewn together on a human body. And I certainly won’t tell you that your new wife’s nickname in college was Slutney McFetus.  Instead, I will look through the 150 photos of your atrocious sausage baby spitting up in a onesie and be soooooo happy for you.  Yay, ACQUIRING DEPENDENTS AND THEREFORE TAX BREAKS!


I feel terrible when I un-tag myself from photos.  I know that it took you not an insignificant amount of time2 to save, upload, and tag these photos.  I know that your intentions were only good.  And I know that you didn’t mean to include this horrid picture of me and publicize it for everyone to see.

I realize that yes, I probably look like this (fat face) most of the time, and yes, I shouldn’t care that my 645 best friends see me like this (fat face), because they will love me no matter what I look like (fat face).  However, you may have underestimated my incredible vanity and desire to have an acceptable photo for the news if I’m ever sensationally murdered.  So, the delusional perfectionist inside me demands a picture-perfect, scrubbed-clean, virtual representation of myself which will ensure that the news outlets make my headline, “Friendly, Respectable Woman Brutally Killed” and not, “Half-Naked Asian Chick Bites It”. So that is why I un-tag myself in most photos: it’s not you, it’s me.  Me and TMZ.  Yay, NORTH KOREAN-STYLE CENSORSHIP!


Finally, I just want to issue a blanket apology for generally being a creep on Facebook.  I don’t like to admit it, but I have spent countless hours ghosting around like some kind of internet predator, checking people out, going through photo albums, looking up friends I haven’t talked to in years and trying to catch up on their lives without actually interacting with them at all.  It is shameful, embarrassing, and cowardly, and I can only take solace in the hope that everyone else does it too.3  But if you must know some of my observations from such stalking (really, sociological research), these are my takeaways:

  1. Most everyone is getting fat.
  2. My friends from elementary school have either gotten pregnant or arrested.
  3. Everyone who drives a nice car has a picture of their car on Facebook.
  4. People who have a profile picture of themselves in a bathing suit are terrorists.
  5. 60% of my friends have developed bone spurs or know someone who has.

So, this is it.  My dear Facebook friends, lovers, colleagues, and randoms (that’s you, Miguel!) I have enjoyed all the time we did not spend together in 2011.  Let’s make sure to keep this up in 2012.



1.This is a reference to the 2004 Hilary Duff single “Come Clean” because I assume this is where the phrase “come clean” originated from.
2. I apologize for the double negative, but the time it takes to tag photos isn’t really a significant amount of time… it’s sort of between not insignificant and time it takes to eat a Chipotle burrito.
3. You guys do this, right?

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I Will Be A Great Mom One Day (As Long As Someone Else Has My Babies)

I find it demeaning when people say that all women should want to have babies.  You know, that women ought to perform their biological duty and focus on breeding.  But not all women have an innate maternal instinct to become a mother.  And some would rather have kids the new-fashioned way: sticking their embryos into a lovely surrogate mother, and saving themselves the inevitable mama trauma.

To me, having a child is like getting a gift in January, and then being told that you have to wait until September to open it.  Not only do you have to wait an unbearably long time (I want to open it NOW!), but you have to endure something that you’ve tried to avoid your entire womanly life: you get fat. You get cankles.  And you get stretch marks so bad that you could practice calligraphy on the lines along your waist.

After being forced to learn about “The Miracle of Birth” in high school, I am traumatized by the entire process.  And honestly, I don’t understand how anyone can call birth a “miracle”.  How can you call something a miracle when it’s happened more than 6 billion times?  If this is the case, then you could call yawning a miracle.  And come on — you can’t control miracles.  I couldn’t pop a pill and stop the U.S. from beating the Russians in 1980.  A true “miracle” birth would be if I were on the pill, got knocked up, attempted an abortion, and still gave birth to a 100% Caucasian baby with the bone structure of a centaur.

Since I am Asian and not fond of horses, that would truly be a miracle.

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FRESH is BACK Update

As many of you know, for the past two years, I have been working in corporate finance in LA and now New York. Although I’ve enjoyed my time here, I recently came to a career/life conclusion that I wanted to try out the non-business side of things for a while. I’ve always had an interest in writing and creating content, and I’ve realized that I’d rather fail at something I love, versus continue to succeed in something I (somewhat) hate. So, I’m going to give this writing thing a shot.

I started this site last year to capture some of my rambling thoughts on being a young professional. A year later, the site is still up and running, although I’m focusing it more with commentary on the latest news.

With my limited marketing skills, I’m starting to push the site out there. I would really appreciate your support by reading, commenting, becoming a fan on Facebook, and forwarding it out to anyone who you think might enjoy this type of humor.

My ultimate goal is that by continuing to write, I will a) figure out if this is something I want to do for my career, b) use my brain, which has been in rapid decay ever since graduation, and c) maybe even get a job.

For my readers, I really appreciate everything — Please continue to send me your candid feedback at

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When Doing Butt Clenches at the Office is Not Enough:

Most of us sit at a desk for more than eight hours a day, staring at a tiny monitor, writing humdrum reports, and risking carpal tunnel in our fingers. The most exercise we get is from walking… on our way to the bathroom, or to a meeting, or once in a while, to lunch. Multiply this by five (or more) days a week, and it’s amazing that we can still squeeze through the doorways. A recent article described the habits of another group with “squat, furry bodies” akin to ours:

“Pandas have been ridiculed for their decidedly non-bearlike vegetarian diets, their apparent lack of interest in — and aptitude for — sex, their tendency to spend the majority of their time sitting, eating, scratching, and defecating (about 40 times per day) — even for being, shall we say, plump.”from MSNBC

While our nation’s best politicians have shown that humans do not lack interest in sex (where is Eliot Spitzer these days?), we seem to be more like pandas than ever before. The growing incidence of obesity in the world has reached over 300 million people worldwide. About 1 in 6 humans globally are considered overweight, and this ratio is even higher in industrialized countries. Indeed, perhaps much of this can be attributed to our workplace routine, where most of our days revolve around sitting, eating, scratching, and defecating… albeit at a much lower rate.

As evidenced by FOX’s short-lived series Man vs. Beast, humans have never been able to claim physical dominance over animals. Eventually our collective obesity could deem humans as nature’s next “evolutionary mistake,” a term typically reserved for our plump panda friends. Given that the white-collar workforce is at the forefront of our nation’s expanding pants size, here are a few workplace exercises that may help ease our gravitational burden:

  • The (Silent) Scream: If you ever thought that your face looked fat in a photo, try the silent scream. By stretching your lower jaw and neck muscles, while not actually emitting any sound, you can minimally improve the girth of your face. It’s also guaranteed to make your co-workers think twice about invading your personal space.
  • Office Chair Rowing: Think about your office chair as a poor man’s Bowflex. Start with some sets of butt clenches at your desk. Then try some air rowing to gain momentum. It’s always impressive when you can make your chair move without pedaling, and it’ll tighten up that derriere as well.
  • Lunges Combined with Stapler Curls: Make every trip to the bathroom exciting; not only would lunges help build those quad muscles for tree-climbing, but working up those biceps with staplers is a great way to keep in shape. And once you get a handle on staplers, you can move on to the three-hole punch, coffee pots, and perhaps even reams of legal-sized paper.

Finally, just a note: we acknowledge that there are fundamental differences between humans and pandas that make such a comparison preposterous. However, pandas are cute, hard-working, and relatable. If their impending extinction doesn’t make us start thinking about our own love handles and sedentary lifestyle, then what will? So for all of us, the plight of our chubby panda pals can give us a directive: either get on the can 40 times a day, or start doing some lunges.


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Welcome to FRESH is BACK

Coming soon: Monday September 1, 2008.

See what we’re all about.

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