Olive The Stories

August 1st 2012

I’ll be honest.

In the beginning of my blog endeavors, I fully anticipated adding a “Frequently asked questions” tab…until I swiftly realized that there is only



That I’m ever…frequently asked

And it is this:

“Olive, where the hell do all of these stories come from?”


December 18th 2004

She handed me this package >>

This neatly wrapped package, while everyone else at the lunch table patiently waited for me to rev    eal this “I totally got this gift wrap at the dollar store” gem.

It was a Secret Santa gift exchange, you see, and my participation was solely due to the fact that my commute back from the cafeteria bread stick line (and decision to say hey) directly coincided with this sentimental set up.

It was sort of like:

“Oh god, Olive. I didn’t even see you there! Hey, wanna be a part of our gift exchange? Also, can I have a breadstick?”

Double whammy.

After fruitless endeavors at Yankee candle and sifting through Target’s clearance section.

Gift exchange day had arrived.

The fellow classmate who drew my name didn’t know a damn thing about me. And I didn’t know a damn thing about her. And to this day, we still don’t know a damn thing about each other.

And to me that’s almost the best part of the story.

She handed me this package >>

This neatly wrapped package, while everyone else at the lunch table impatiently waited for the anti-climatic rev    eal

And as I ope   ned the gift I expected something generic, something store bought, something surface level.

And it was.



I said thank you, less for the journal and more-so relieved I dodged the “Shit I don’t know what else to get you, here have some decent-smelling Bath and Body Works shit I bought with this coupon I got in the mail” bullet.

I t h r e w it in my bag.







it up.

And forgot about it.

But not really.

Tis the season of New Year’s Resolutions.

And as my family sat there discussing their weight goals, money spending habits and how many pounds of rice we should make for Christmas dinner, I thought that maybe, just maybe I should spice up my 15 year strong tradition of…never having one, ever. And make things a little more interesting.

So I got to thinking.

Being nicer to people? Meh.

Spending time on my physical appearance? Whatever.

Waking up early to make the most of my day? Get real.

The mom interrupted me.

C’mon, Youngsook, I’m in the middle of a brainstorm here.

She requested a pen to label the dumplings she’s was going to put in the freezer for safe-keeping and questionable eating for the next 8 years, naturally.









for my bag accidentally









it over in the process.

Causing all of the contents to  f – a – l – l out of the bag. The journal included.

“What’s that?” Youngsook inquired.

I told her.

“Well it’s really nice. You shouldn’t waste it.”

Brainstorm back in session.

What if…

No, no this is crazy.

No wait I’ll just say it because I’m talking to myself anyway.

What if…I were to write everyday for the next 365 days? Challenge myself to live a day-to-day life that was worth writing about? Hell, get a little practice writing while I’m at it. And then one year from now I could shove this completed New Year’s resolution in my own face?

I began collecting stories on December 24th 2004

And never stopped.

What does that mean exactly?


Well it’s something like:

13 journals

13 years


1 blog later

So artsy with the kitchen light and all.

So to put this in perspective:

My stories are:

2.6 feet – tall

Hey shawty

Hey shawty

Which means stacked together would be:

The size of the average spider monkey – tall

Approximately 832 playing cards – tall

162 + drunken nights, a few attemptive and around 613 ridiculous shenanigans – tall.

My stories are:

1,846 feet – long

No shortage of feet here.

No shortage of feet here.

Which means, if I were to place each page of my journals side by side they would be equivalent to:

Walking the height of the entire empire state building – long

Taking a leisurely stroll with an old friend for approximately 17-18 minutes – long

One drivers license, 2 graduations; 5 internships; 2 Full-time jobs, 3 presidential terms -long

My stories are:

16 pounds – heavy

The scale beneath the journals didn’t photograph so well…or like at all.

Which is about:

$260,965.92 worth of gold – heavy

270 donuts – heavy

94 Special occasion dresses, 88 pens; 41 pencils; and 72 “pack your bags we’re going on an adventure” – heavy.


My stories are:

3,412 pages – full

Sorry, trees.


Which translates to:

19 “Great Gatsby” Books – full

3,412 Buzzfeed Articles – full

7,000 + conversations, 14 different countries, 0 missed moments – full.


So to answer your question:

I took a few of my current stories on site and am giving you a sneak peek to the original drafts below.

The Best Secret I Ever Kept Was In The Skybox Bathroom

Ketchup, Penguins and 46 Pickles

What You Said In Room 117

To The Man In The  Business Suit Across The Table

My Snack On The Italian Swiss Alps

And before I knew it, practically every person including: Mr. Rich , My naked neighbor , The homeless man on the subwayThe interview with a man who wouldn’t hire me for the best reason of all,  Craig’s list characters,  and every ridiculous, inspirational and humorous shenanigan in between including: sprinting through the street of New York City, The various episodes of Penny Erikson, Wandering in Brooklyn, or eating a snack on the Italian Swiss Alps,  had been documented.

Now I realize this may seem a bit extreme. And I only say that because I just threw out an insane amount of drastic stats and filtered J-pegs of my original shit, your way.


13 years ago when the girl I didn’t know a damn thing about, and who didn’t know a damn thing about me, gave me this surface-level gift wrapped in generic opportunity?

I decided to give this whole “Do what you love, follow your dreams, challenge yourself” nonsense a chance.

And 13 journals

13 years


1 blog later.

I’m pretty damn glad I did.