Too Many Things that happened during iHeartRadio (and how Niall Horan helped me win tickets).

I spent the weekend in Las Vegas, but not in the way that cool, fun 24-year-olds are supposed to. I am not cool.  All of my friends know that I am awful in Vegas. I am very, very, very bad at Vegas-ing. I feel guilty when I gamble. I have no stamina for day-drinking. Pool parties gross me out. Oh, and I always feel like an ugly, mishapen hobgoblin surrounded by thin, beautiful fairy sprites with perfect curls and teeny tiny dresses.

There are only two reasons for which I am totally down to attempt Vegas: casino buffets and the iHeartRadio Music Festival aka the most unreal concert lineup to ever exist. This year I got free tickets to the iHeartRadio Village which takes place during the day (in the desert, btw), but didn't get tickets to the night concerts.

I got really close to the stage, y'all. This was at the start of the festival... before the Neon Trees guy jumped into the crowd and I weaseled my way to the front.

The Village was nuts, mainly because 5 Seconds of Summer (affectionately called 5SOS "five-sauce" by everyone who has a twitter account) was performing so, naturally, herds and herds of lovestruck teenage girls were mobbing the stage to get as close as possible. As I watched the strategic shoving and cutting and crawling towards the front, I thought of my inner fangirl that I had let fade away.

Christelle note: For those who do not understand 5SOS's popularity, the band was 'discovered' by One Direction's Louis Tomlinson and opened for the past two 1D tours. They acquired an immensely passionate and large fanbase due to the fact that they are amazingly talented and hilarious and adorkable and just very good-looking. And Australian. And I'm pretty sure all their fans are willing to sleep with them because they have giant penises or something.

I had been at that level of desperation only a year before: It's your favorite band and you feel like you know them and you truly feel like that if he makes eye contact with you or your boobs during the show, you two will hit it off and you will get the chance to be in his life. Notice me. See me. Acknowledge that I exist. Acknowledge that you're as real as I think you are.

If you follow me on twitter or any other social outlet or have my phone number, I have calmed down significantly with my 1D obsession. I don't tweet them on a daily basis anymore. I don't have any phone alerts. I've unfollowed the numerous update accounts on twitter/instagram/tumblr that let me know where their beautiful faces were at all times. But here I was in the same city as them, and they were performing that night at a show I didn't have tickets to. Now, all of a sudden, I felt like I was about to go insane and cry like a spoiled, entitled 12-year-old One Less Lonely Girl. But I tried not to think about it.

So the performances (Jake Miller, Neon Trees, Childish Gambino, 5SOS, Meghan Trainor) were amazing. My friends and I spent the rest of the afternoon picking up free iHeart swag and hydrating because we were in the freaking desert and had been up since 6am which is very dangerous and stupid but we did it FOR THE MF-ING MUSIC! So before we left, my friend Roxciie spotted some cardboard cutouts of One Direction. No shit, we had to take a picture.

It took a lot of effort not to grab the Niall cardboard cutout and run out of there.

HERE'S WHERE MAGIC HAPPENED.

Now, as a 24-year-old in a public space trying not to get creepy with cardboard versions of Niall Horan and Harry Styles, I think I handled myself pretty well. After the picture session, a woman wearing an iHeartRadio tshirt asked us, "Do you like One Direction?"

An innocent question. Oh how little did she know. I could've told her I've followed them to golf courses and made them personalised superhero capes and managed to make my way into a private VMA rehearsal and somehow was part of their first VMA performance (Christelle Note: Those were my heart hands on TV!), but instead I casually replied, "Yes. I really do."

Actually, I'm not sure what I said. In my mind, I remained cool. For all I know I could've blurted out, "YES YES I LOVE THEM AND I WILL FOLLOW THEM UNTIL THE DAY I DIE!" but she smiled and asked, "Are you going to the show tonight?"

And I got extremely sad. Because I was not going to the show and all those feelings I had felt earlier were about to erupt and embarrass me in front of this stranger.

"No... we're not. We wanted to but don't have tickets."

And then she pulled out three tickets. And she fanned them out like they do in the movies. And then she said, "Now you are."

I kid you not. This shit actually happened. I blacked out what happened next because the only nourishment I had all day was a caramel frappucino, a bottle of watter, and two cans of Pepsi (sponsor of the iHeartRadio Village). I'm pretty sure we group-hugged this kind, magnificent stranger and I jumped around the desert alternately screaming and gagging and crying.

I needed that moment. Hell, I needed that day. Everyone needs a day that makes them go, "HOLY SHIT I'M LUCKY TO BE ALIVE. " I needed to be so excited about something that my stomach felt like  emptying out the free Pepsis it had been forcefed. I needed to feel like a crazy, pre-teen lunatic.

Long story short: My love for One Direction is the stuff unicorns and rainbows are made of. Niall is my lucky charm and because of him I got to see Ed Sheeran, Weezer, Train, Iggy Azalea, 50 Cent, Lil Jon, Calvin Harris, and Paramore. And One Direction. Because I cannot escape them no matter what I do.

The festival will air on The CW network on September 29 & 30 from 8-10pm as a two-night special.

-Christelle :) x

HASHTAG BLESSED.

Too Many Things about Clement Tsai: A friend whose life changed my own.

Today marks the five year anniversary of the death of a friend I met during my first year of college. He's someone I think of often, though not as much as I used to; he has significantly shaped the person I am right now (13. To find myself). Five years.

The first time a death hits you-- truly and uproariously hits you-- so close to your heart and mind that your whole being changes. The way you view life changes. The way you view yourself changes. Clement did that for me. Five years later, and I know without a doubt that I wanted to affect the people around me (19. To make others smile) the way Clement affected all of his friends and family.

12. To help others find themselves

One of the best friends I made in college also celebrates her birthday today. I always try to make it a point to greet her 'happy birthday' before I do anything else.  I met her first week of college and I grew with her all the way to graduation. She is healthy and beautiful and alive. Some of my friends lost that for themselves when we lost Clement five years ago, and it's every year this day that I'm reminded of how lucky we all are to have friends in our lives that we love. Celebration of life is one of the most important things we take for granted (but it's something that he never took for granted.)

Love you, Clem. Viva la vida.

-Christelle x

More things

• Before Clement died, he had a class assignment asking the questions (Christelle note: For the longest time I thought it was an assignment because why else would you do that?) read this article by Steve Pavlina "What would you feel about someone if they died? What would others feel about you if they died?". His family found his handwritten response (with his own personal starred statements) in his things after he'd passed. Here is proof of Clement's amazing soul:

• And before this blog entry gets too long, here's what I wrote for Clement and his book that his family and friends published for him. (8. To write a book.)

Someone Like You by Christelle Gonzales (2009)

I knew that I was getting to that age. That age… when life becomes real. And death becomes real, too. I didn’t know when my first real experience with death would happen; I dreaded it. Who would be this person that I would lose?

I can’t say that I was Clement’s close friend or that he was one of mine, but he was part of my life.

I must confess, the first time I met Clement (during welcome week at UCSD), I thought he was drunk. You seemed too happy, Clem. Now I understand that was just you.

He lived in the suite directly three floors above mine. Even with two stories between us, I could still hear his viola and his “singing” (“I USED TO RUUULE THE WORLD.”) My suite loved Clement. We often joked about his handsome, GQ face. I one time mentioned to the girls, “Has Clement ever winked at you?” All of us had giggled embarrassingly. Quite a skill, my friend.

Many times an abnormally loud, lengthy, and dirty burp would break the silence of my room at night. Unanimously, my two other roommates and I would say, “CLEMENT.” Surely enough, if we looked out of our second-floor window, he’d be standing outside next to the trashcan, smoking a cigarette, illuminated by the weird orange light of the lamppost he always stood underneath. My window provided a perfect frame for the scene; it’s an image I know by heart because of how regularly I’d witnessed it throughout the year. It is still impossible for me to come back to school and not picture all of the times I saw you standing there.

I would see Clement nearly every day. It wasn’t uncommon for him to walk into C-22 and eyeball the cheese fries that I was eating (I always let him have the rest.) A grin and a “Thanks Stelle,” usually followed. Sometimes, he’d be laying in Justin’s bed, and for a comfortable moment in time, it would just be everyone doing nothing at all. 

Most of my standout memories of Clement are simple: I once told a joke about a gay horse eating “heeeeeey”, and he cracked up for a minute straight. I gave him Photoshop (illegally) and taught him some editing techniques. I laid on the bed while the boys shouted “N00BS!” throughout hour-length games of DOTA. I teased him about his rash (“Jigga jigga, call a girl boshingles.”) making him laugh—that laugh--during a long car ride home.

My fondest and most painful memory to recall is one of just the two of us. It was seldom for us to be talking one-on-one without the connection of our other friends to bring us together… so when he came to find me when I was once alone and upset, I was surprised. But I welcomed his genuine concern. In that hour, we sat on the bed and talked about my thoughts and his thoughts. We talked about our friends. We talked about love. The strongest moment I remember is when Clement smiled at me and sweetly told me, “I really like talking to you.” It seems like such a small thing to be proud of, but I can still practically hear you tell me this and finally make me realize that you were my friend, too.

I think that was one of your special talents: making people feel like your friend. Sometimes after you’d gone, your name comes up in conversation with people that I didn’t know you knew, and they make me smile with their own personal memories of you. Those moments are bittersweet; it never fails to lift my heart to learn new ways you brightened the lives of strangers (and even non-strangers). People like you are inspiring—this I hope you also knew. Thank you for living as an example and showing others that life is good, because for the rest of my life, I want to make that one of my goals. I hope you know that your life affected me so much, in ways that I’m still dealing with now. And those things we talked about?  I still believe them. I still believe in love and goodness in people, and you’re one of the reasons why.

 11. To remind people that life is good, and to keep living

Too Many Things that could go wrong.

It turns out that I have been driving illegally since Thursday night because I had no idea where my driver's license was located. I spent the day scavenging my laundry, my room, and my car, for that goddamned piece of plastic.

Yes, I could've woken up tomorrow to get in line for the DMV and replaced it-- because that's always so fun-- but I'm 90% sure I would've ran into some, ahem, issues. I'm not going to go into detail of those issues right now, but I would like to say that my Guardian Angel just pulled an epic Tim Howard-esque save.

Christelle note: I would also like to say that my Guardian Angel is, hopefully, just as sexy as Tim Howard and just as racially ambiguous-- not that you should hook up with your Guardian Angel because that would end awkwardly disastrous if you ever broke up.

But, yes, I found my license. Between the pages of my book. It seems as though a book has saved my life (again).

Now, why was this such a big deal? Why was I on the verge of breaking down so much so that I had to lock myself in my room and pop in my Prisoner of Azkaban DVD to distract me from my desperation and melancholy?

Me too, angsty!Harry with perfect hair like the books... Me too. Sigh.

I am 24-years-old. I am in what seems like a stagnant stage of supposed-to-be-transition that doesn't feel very transition-y! I have a Bachelor's degree from a top university, and yet, I CAN'T GET A JOB! I am using exclamation marks to make my point that I am frustrated even though I feel like written exclamations like these are cheesy and childish! No state-issued ID means no live scans, no doctor's appointments, no way to get out of a crappy small town and start an independent life.

I am about to pull a thirteen-year-old Potter and run away and become a bum. Or an au pair. I'd be a good au pair. I could live in New York City and take care of wealthy, white children all day. I've watched the Nanny Diaries: Scarlett Johannsen ends up with Chris Evans.

Almost losing that license felt like another roadblock from getting me to where I need to go. It already feels like there are so many tolls I need to pay, and no one even told me that I was on a private toll road.... I would've stayed on the freaking freeway if I knew! It's scary how one thing that goes wrong could instantly detour my plans once again. It's terrifying.

At this point, I'm pretty sure my boggart would be me sitting in this bedroom I'm sitting in now, but five years older with a pile of job rejections. And grad school rejections. I have no idea how to make that scene amusing enough for me to shout the proper spell.

I do realise, how riddikulus I am being: I'm lucky that my parents love me enough to help me kickstart my teaching career ( because you have to pay a crapton of fees to become a teacher, who figured?) and provide me with food and a roof over my head for as long as it takes me to get going. I know I'm creating my own boggart; I'm terrified that I'll be stuck and waste so much time and money without actually doing something. Anything. I just need to do a thing however thingy that thing may be.

So here's to moving forward and conquering boggarts. Riddikulus!

-Christelle xxxxx