My friends know that I love Christmas. Music, decorations, shopping, baking, everything (except Egg Nog)! For Christmas Eve I decided to make (was lovingly asked) cookies. Egg Nog spritz cookies. Why anyone would want Egg Nog flavored anything is beyond me.

I woke up and felt very Lisa. America’s Next Top Model Lisa. Don’t know what I’m talking about? This is Lisa.

When getting candy canes out of the party drawer, along with the holly apron there was one of my yearly letters to Santa.

Dear Santa,

We very much appreciate your still coming to our house even though we (Mike and Emily) are getting old and are still doubting your existence. So please prove us wrong … . I’ll leave my car keys on the hall table if any large presents don’t fit under the tree. Say hi to Mrs. Claus for us! (Emily says no hard feelings about the Shiny Gun Cowboy song.)

Much love and holiday cheer,
The Atwoods

The lean, mean baking machine.

Chase loves her mom T-Boz “farther than the dirt.” As she should. Mama Boz built her an expansive playhouse, complete with stage and castle bed. But she can stop loving her mom once she moves from Georgia to the UK to find Brooklyn, Romeo and Cruz Beckham chilling in their a $250,000 two-story pad, er, playhouse.

I know I’ve said it before, but I LOVE HAVING CABLE!

Oh, VH1. Thank you so much for telling me that Nicole Ritchie can’t look that fabulous without paying $150,000 for three people to do it for her. I try to do it for $50 or less!

My parents didn’t build me a house, but they did buy me a great education. I’m very thankful, and quite disappointed that VH1 didn’t pick up on that.

Oh yeah, and freaking Madonna (love ya!) wore diamond-encrusted mink eyelashes worth $10,000. Oprah bought $200,000-worth mink eyelashes. And PETA attacks poor J-Lo…

When does journalism go too far? I’m not talking about sensationalism. I’m talking about newspapers enforcing censorship. The claims come from the idea that some news is too much information and/or even dangerous. This is called the social responsibility theory. It doesn’t seem to be too popular a theory for today’s news organizations.

In recent news, President Bush admitted to ordering secret eavesdropping to combat the War on Terror (does anyone else think that the names for this war are weak?). The New York Times writes, that the “information had been ‘improperly provided to news organizations.’” Whether that means someone leaked the right information was leaked or incorrect, is a little ambiguous.

Bush was also quoted as saying the article compromised national security: “Our enemies have learned information they should not have, and the unauthorized disclosure of this effort damages our national security and puts our citizens at risk. Revealing classified information is illegal, alerts our enemies and endangers our country.”’

Again, when does journalism go too far? Should news organizations reveal secrets about government intelligence missions during wartime? I always wondered whether discussing war strategies in the news was smart. Isn’t that just informing the other side?

I guess I’d lean more towards the social responsibility theory. I don’t want full censorship, but I’m all for keeping my country safe.

I know this seems like cheating, but looking to the past is a big part of the present. This post was written the night after meeting my current boyfriend. People always say you’ll find someone when you’re not looking. Well, in my case, I was looking in the wrong direction. When I first met Matt, I didn’t gush all over him. (Might have been the weird beard.) I acutally didn’t really think of him, let alone remember him. But I guess all that matters is that he noticed me. And even though he hated how I looked — curly hair and a “puke green sweater” (borrowed from Megs) — he didn’t like that I was with someone else. (I actually wasn’t with someone else. Touchy subject. Case closed.) I’ve never considered myself to be someone a guy would go after. This post means a lot to me, because it shows a crucial curve in my path that led to one of the biggest blessings I’ve ever known.

Frisco Like Crisco - 12.20.03

I don’t know Frisco is like Crisco. But I went there tonight. Tons o’ Fun. I chilled with Erin, Yuri, Alex and Erica. I didn’t know Erica before tonight, but she is cool. One of the only people I have ever really “clicked” with right off the bat. New friends are fun! Too bad we spent almost the entire time at the mall. But the white elephant gift exchange was pretty cool. I wanted that wrapped happy meal. Dang. Haha.

On another note, talking to old friends from high school is a trip. They think you’re the same you were as when you left, and you can’t believe that they’d still think that. However, I arrogantly think that since they have not gone off to college or moved out, that they’re the same people.

So, I never thought I’d hear this from one of my old high school friends. Even though he was a little tipsy, it was nice to hear that I was more than I thought:

“Hey, seriously though, before I go, I always hear you talk bad about yourself as far as guys go. You’re damn desirable, if I was Xian and a good one you can bet you’d be getting calls from me more than you’d be comfortable with. Besides, you’re my friend and at the very least I want to make you feel good in that aspect, because whether you regard yourself as it or not, you are a catch, and a lucky guy will get you no doubt.”

Closing statement: I hate aim express.

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For more archive blog posts visit www.yourbestshot.blogspot.com.

“Wait!” he said, stopping our walk to a halt. He looks at me and looks ahead to tile walkway enclosed by colorful designer clothes. For once, the crowded mall was clear.

“Let’s walk just like mom!” He yanked my arm and bolted, manuevering through people without being rude or easing the brisk pace. He was laughing hysterically. I looked at the face of a female shopper trying not to break her disgruntled face with a laugh. For once, I laughed, too.

You see, my dad is a goofy guy. (I guess I get my goofy spouts from him.) In the simplist and most beautiful of terms, he loves my mom. Sure, he makes fun of her frantic speedwalking and her particular taste in clothes. But I know he loves her when we go Christmas shopping. We scoured that store, looking for exactly what my mom wants, no matter the cost.

Skirts, size 2 — brown, gray, off-white. Woven. No black.
Jeans — Levi’s 512, size 3.

Too tall for petite, but too small and skinny for regular, it takes couragous shopping warriors to endure the hunt. Every year my dad and I shop for her. Armed with his one-day coupon — the only way my mom would have it — we looked through every rack at our Macy’s and then he headed over to San Francisco to search every rack there. Skirts were not in this season, only gaucho pants. Of course, her favorite style of jeans is now discontinued. This also happens every year. Whoever said tapered pants are coming back, you sit on a throne of lies.

I don’t go shopping like that with my mom, however. I’m too bored with men’s clothing and he doesn’t even make a list until a few days before Christmas. But I know she loves him, in how she shops. My mom, a.k.a. the Coupon Queen, loves to find exactly what he wants for the best price. That way, she can get him more of what he wants. Somehow she has a knack for matching everyone’s personality in each present. And every year there is a story. We’ll open our presents, and my mom forgets to open hers. She’ll watch everyone else open a present, wait for their reaction and burst out with the story.

Dramatic and rational. Quite a funny relationship. Rational attacks dramatic, because it is always right. Yet, dramatic is creative and spontaneous; it really just wants to be friends.

I always tell people I’m a type A personality. Every move I make must have several reasons to back it up, emotion not being one of them. What I don’t tell people is that I always think of the dramatic first. Those thoughts are deemed ridiculous and I come to my senses. Whoopee … same old Emily.

Well tis the season, I said to myself, pushing reason to the side. There was a point to be made! I would calmly get my keys, gather my things, and put that turbo to good use.

Except for there was a car blocking me and reason rushed to my side. Stay? I want to. Stay? Maybe. Stay? I’m leaving.

As the distance grew, rationality began to nibble away at me. But I would not let it win. Not this time. Rational is freeway. Dramatic is Lake Chabot Road after the first rain. One side mountain, the other side cliff. The windy road is so dark, that your rearview mirror is completely black. Drama had taken the lead.

God must have known I would do something that stupid. There was a car in front of me that just had to go the speed limit and use their breaks around the curves. Didn’t they know it could be done without? Didn’t they know I was on a mission?

But, reason had stopped my dramatic attempt.

I got home and turned off the engine. The light shot the comforting darkness and I was transported to a police-like interrogation. All the thoughts and worries weighing on me grew intensely, but then faded with the light. Drama still breathed, despite the apparent loss. I’d sleep in the car, stand out in the rain or go for a walk. Anything except facing reality.

Oh Internet. I love and hate you. You tell me who wins ANTM and Survivor before I had the chance to download the episodes. You have other girls professing love to my boyfriend. You let weird people in Pääjärvi, Southern Finland, Finland search for me. You let me know the daily details of celebrities so I can make fun of them like we went to high school together (Go Fug Yourself, E Online, People, Ali Martell every once in a while).

Oh cable. We’ve had a sporadic, long distance relationship. Today you cut out on me several times, as if Northern California suffered the same wind storms as the Midwest. Yet, you came back. I don’t realize how I live without you. You have all the creative people in the world on HGTV. You have MTV. You have VH1’s ANTM Cycle 4 marathons. You give me hope that I can be beautiful and popular, when in fact I’m just a bum in my pajamas at 1:30 p.m., with leftover chocolate pancakes in a to-go box in front of me, and I have yet to brush my teeth or wash my face.

I am too weirded out to write one coherent post. So here are a few, semi-coherent posts. So all you ADDites, you’re in luck.

Home for the Holidays
Have you ever had one of those days were you blink and it’s over? Then you’re left thinking, what just happened? Today was that day. First I had my last final, then before I knew it, Matt and I were belting the “Rent” soundtrack all over central California. The long drive didn’t seem long at all.

Cheating My Way Through School
Tonight the quality of my degree was questioned. My feelings had taken the statement out of context, and I knew this person couldn’t be that mean to suggest such a thing. But I still cried. I’ve skated my way through school my entire life. Now that I’m nearing the end, I want to pull a Billy Madison and start all over from the very beginning. I try to motivate myself every semester, but I always fail. Getting a degree in journalism is too easy. For a while I have felt this way, seeing people cramming numbers and learning languages. Should you pick a major because you’re good at it, or because you want to learn that craft. Good thing I’m figuring this out now. Now that I have one more semester left…

Poor Kid
For one kid attending my University, it may be his last semester. You see, one of my staff writers wrote a controversial article. If the writer is not repriemanded, the mother, who complained to the president and department chair, is going to pull her child out of school. Boo hoo. We don’t want crazies here anyways.

The article has a lot to do with political stances. I’ve always copped out, saying that I hate politics. The real case is that I don’t understand it and I’m indecisive. Parties, propositions, passing policies … confusing! Do I have to choose eventually? Neutral is always for me. But now it’s time to study and find out more about what I believe. So if anyone could get me the direct line to God, I’d like to give him a ring. His final answer would be much appreciated at this moment.

Someone Answer My Question!
When aligning yourself with a “standards-based” organization, what exactly can you be held accountable for when it comes to representing yourself on the Web? Please share your thoughts.

I woke up and patted my hair. Amazingly it felt similar to the day before. Needless to say, I had lofty expectations when I approached the mirror. The shriek that came forth after doing so was a shock. Where were my perfectly plucked eyebrows and flawless complexion? My teeth were not brilliantly white and my lips were anything but rosy.

Down the hall I hear a similar plea. “Emily?! Can you photoshop my face? I miss my eyebrows!”

You see, Nigel’s photos were fantastic. Reality, however, is not so kind. I used to think I knew photoshop, but this new project has stretched my bounds. While I hope I’m not like Dooce’s Stretch Monster in the hands of her brother. I don’t want to ooze pink anytime soon.

I rose to the challenge and me and my seven saucy housemates look FABULOUS!

Thank you, Nigel aka my boyfriend, Matt West! (Visit Matt West’s photos! He’s an amazing photographer!)

After several comments, I’ve decided to sign up for America’s Next Top Model, Cycle 6.

But Emily, you’re not tall enough. Yes, I know. You don’t photograph well. Yes, I know. But you only have one look. One look?! One look?!!! Just wait for Magnum.

Tell me if you can spot the non-ANTMer among the contestants. The assignment? Recreate classic art with a modern twist. Here are the best shots.

Kim as the Birth of Venus

Nicole as Girl with the Pearl Earring

Nik as Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man

Bre as the Mona Lisa

Jayla as the Whistler’s Mother

Emily as Munich’s Scream