One hour of Oxnard

Instead of doing homework and allathat stuff due in the last weeks of school, I did this.

Julina, dearest!

First thing I see when I sign on AIM? Julina's message.

3 words: Made. My. Day. <3

Happy Momma's [Weekend]!

Me, Trace, Tiffers, & "Master(?)" !

Creators of that AWESOME edible arrangement right there,

our gift to our AWESOME mothers, 'course!

& here are our awesome mothers, along with our masterpiece!

All the kids with their mothers! Wait... Na's missing. xD

Well, he's taking the picture, so THANKS, NA!

Wow, I just noticed: Tiff and Dyl are actually smiling forreals, I think!

^Right here's my top priority: my family. I love my parents.

& I'm pretty sure if you knew me at all, you'd know that. ;)

Ain't that right?

This was what we did on Sunday after Viet school and stuff.

Officially, I guess our "Mother's Day celebration" was on Saturday, but that was sort of boring.

Hm, I wonder where all the pics from Saturday went? xD

Blue Eyes, [Yellow] Dragon

In elementary school, everybody used to have these complicated "cool" emails, like:

• bubblesarecool123@whatever.com

or something like that. When I made my first ever email (Yahoo!), I planned mines all out. I wanted it to be:

trubluazndragon@yahoo.com

Can you believe that?! Illiteracy was so "cool" back then, I didn't know what I was getting myself into! Luckily, my internet crashed several times and one of the adults finally helped make one for me. Without asking what I wanted my username to be. So now, it's [insertemailaddresshere], instead of what's above. Seriously, what up with the "tru blu azn dragon" anyway? Blue was never my favorite color. I wasn't that proud of my ethnicity. & I didn't like dragons that much. What up, Lil' Emily!? Phew. Thanks, Destiny. It just wasn't meant to be.

Dreaming of You

I'VE CONVINCED MYSELF THAT I DON'T LIKE YOU.



SO WHY THE FREAK DO YOU KEEP SNEAKING INTO MY DREAMS?!
I was so determined... not to keep thinking about you. So why do you do this to me? ):

"You're the Top" - Cole Porter

At words poetic, I'm so pathetic
That I always have found it best,
Instead of getting 'em off my chest,
To let 'em rest unexpressed,
I hate parading my serenading
As I'll probably miss a bar,
But if this ditty is not so pretty
At least it'll tell you
How great you are.

You're the top!
You're the Coliseum.
You're the top!
You're the Louver Museum.
You're a melody from a symphony by Strauss
You're a Bendel bonnet,
A Shakespeare's sonnet,
You're Mickey Mouse.
You're the Nile,
You're the Tower of Pisa,
You're the smile on the Mona Lisa
I'm a worthless check, a total wreck, a flop,
But if, baby, I'm the bottom you're the top!

Your words poetic are not pathetic.
On the other hand, babe, you shine,
And I can feel after every line
A thrill divine
Down my spine.
Now gifted humans like Vincent Youmans
Might think that your song is bad,
But I got a notion
I'll second the motion
And this is what I'm going to add;

You're the top!
You're Mahatma Gandhi.
You're the top!
You're Napoleon Brandy.
You're the purple light
Of a summer night in Spain,
You're the National Gallery
You're Garbo's salary,
You're cellophane.
You're sublime,
You're turkey dinner,
You're the time, the time of a Derby winner
I'm a toy balloon that’s fated soon to pop
But if, baby, I'm the bottom,
You're the top!

You're the top!
You're an arrow collar
You're the top!
You're a Coolidge dollar,
You're the nimble tread
Of the feet of Fred Astaire,
You're an O'Neill drama,

You're Whistler's mama!

You're camembert.

You're a rose,
You're Inferno's Dante,

You're the nose
On the great Durante.
I'm just in a way,
As the French would say, "de trop".
But if, baby, I'm the bottom,
You're the top!

You're the top!
You're a dance in Bali.
You're the top!
You're a hot tamale.
You're an angel, you,
Simply too, too, too diveen,
You're a Boticcelli,
You're Keats,
You're Shelly!

You're Ovaltine!
You're a boom,
You're the dam at Boulder,
You're the moon,
Over Mae West's shoulder,
I'm the nominee of the G.O.P.

Or GOP!

But if, baby, I'm the bottom,
You're the top!

You're the top!
You're a Waldorf salad.
You're the top!
You're a Berlin ballad.
You're the boats that glide
On the sleepy Zuider Zee,
You're an old Dutch master,

You're Lady Astor,
You're broccoli!
You're romance,
You're the steppes of Russia,
You're the pants, on a Roxy usher,
I'm a broken doll, a fol-de-rol, a blop,

But if, baby, I'm the bottom,
You're the top!

Cute, much? The lyrics anyhow. Now all I need is "Somebody to Love." NOT, my butt.