Celebrity News:

know that I am. I was bred to be a socialite. I love high fashion {runway}, avant-garde makeup {sephora}, tiny morsels of decadent food {global}, great shoes {choo}, jet-setting {big cities}, expensive handbags {marc}, good design {metropolitan living}, and pretty much anything from Europe: clothes, music, art, men, spelling things with the letter u. I am an absolute hotel snob {W} and a water connoisseur (which btw, is defined by dictionary.com as a person who is especially competent to pass critical judgments in matters of taste) {voss}. I got a few new shiny things today:

When I'm in beautifully created pieces of architectural greatness, I have trouble catching my breath. Haute design hotels make me cry. Given a lineup without tags, I will always pick the most expensive item. It's like it's in my blood. I had the pleasure and privilege of visiting the New Orleans W Hotel last weekend and a $50 bar tab at the Whiskey Blue later, I remembered that I was in fact, nina kristine, 20-something, struggling to pay rent, and not, as I often mistake, Lindsay Lohan. But the few hours of believing I'm a celebutant and carelessly throwing bits of green paper at bartenders as I bathe in the green of onlookers' eyes is a strange narcotic. But the rush comes not from being envied, no, I've graduated and view envy like a heroin addict views marijuana. My pupils dilate at the looks of acceptance from those I *should* envy. The feeling of belonging among the elite puts me on a high you can't find on the black market and next thing you know, I'm hocking my effects on eBay to get my next fix.

So all this is well and good...IF my daddy were a bajillionaire and my last name was Hilton, Richie, or Kardashian and I had a scandalous sex tape surfing about on the internet. But, as it were, my last name really only has enough pull to score me free lumpia (a trait that I know is invaluable, but still). But money can be had and found, as well as fame. If I really wanted to do it, to give in fully to the celebrity just under my skin, I could...and in two weeks I'd be rubbing elbows on the cover of your favourite trashy rag. But there's tstill another snag. Paradoxically, I feel like I'm supposed to do more. I want to help dig wells for people without running water...do more than feed the homeless, but make them realize they're viable human beings and people with emotional needs as well. I want to change how people view animals, destroy factory farming and the use of growth hormones and antibiotics in animal farming. I want to encourage people to pay attention the effects they have on the environment, advocate the use of sustainable resources like bamboo and hemp. I want to eliminate hate speech and adopt a million children and break stereotypes and peoples' misconceptions about success and education and wealth and safety and adventure and in short, save the world.


I really do think that the Creator knows me a little too well. I recently got an invitation that satisfies both sides of my personality, light and dark. The Seed Company sent me an invitation to attend their President's Forum in May on the weekend my wedding was supposed to be. (No, we didn't cancel, just changed the date to 8/8/8) Anyway, they're a Bible translation group and they're recruiting people to become translators and missionaries to remote areas across the globe. Of course, as a missionary, you'd be forced to live as meagerly as the families you're working with, but for the Forum, they're putting us up in the swankiest resort in the Sunshine State. So, with one half of me reveling in the pampering of spa treatments, a mile-long private beach, and 8 in-house restaurants and bars and the other half of me, aching inside to change peoples' lives, adhere to the callings of my Faith, and forgo creature comforts to better the world, here I leap.