Hello Beauties,
Thank you so much for following my blog. I appreciate the support!

I have moved my blog to and hope you will keep reading.

Welcome Wolf

Lots of Love,


Ask Me How I’m Feeling: US Weekly’s Best of 2012

My dad is a doctor. He is my hero. He saves lives and listens to people’s problems, and for some reason every piece-of-crap magazine thinks that his home address is his office, so they send issue after STAR MELTDOWN issue, month after month.

These are all good things.

I would never ever spend real money on Us Magazine, but here it is in my lap and I’ve had sizable glass of wine at dinner, so let’s see what the scallywags over there have to say about 2012, shall we?

[I do not own any of the images included in this post. I am an innocent citizen with a terrifically dumb phone and seven copies of Us Weekly. Please do not sue me. Like I said earlier, I have no real money.]

Us rewinds the year’s births, splits and wackiest trends — even McKayla Maroney is impressed!” reads the caption. Well, first of all, I am not going to believe that until I see a direct quote from my favorite sassy gymnast. Even then, I might not believe that she cares about anyone’s “splits” but her own.


Sadly, Us made the mistake of putting Kate and William on a page next to Kristen Stewart getting real life vampired by some hobo in a dark hoodie. It’s like putting a Jane Austen novel next to your DVD of Coyote Ugly. Just not classy. I guess the royals represent the best and Kristen’s weird pout thing represents the worst. Ugh! I have been living under a rock or something! I forgot I am supposed to care about these people.


Page 2: Miley Cyrus got a haircut. I do actually remember hearing something about that on the news. This is placed right next to “Shocking Splits,” including Will Arnett and Amy Poehler. I don’t understand. Do they have split ends? Because this can’t possibly mean split, like divorced. Must be split ends. They should copy Miley and go for new dos.

Okay, next batch and … engagements. MILEY CYRUS AGAIN? She is engaged? What is she, 16? Oh, no it says she is 20. But she already owns a diamond and that diamond is more famous than me? OH GOD AND THERE IS A PICTURE OF 50 SHADES OF GREY ON THIS PAGE. Must turn page, must escape, must rethink my life drastically …

I have yet to read anything more than the headlines of this review, but this page has pictures of “funky nail art,” so I’ll think about reading some of the fine print. Ah, 64% (of who? Tazmania?) think that Honey Boo Boo’s 15 minutes of fame are up. This picture is of a small girl in a … velvet stripper outfit? And she has a scrunchie around her ankle. The small paragraph says that Honey Boo Boo is “redneckognized.” Time to turn the page.


Squeal! It’s a picture of One Direction! Next to a much smaller picture of the cast of Girls! Also, a meter of “This Year’s Most Shocking Moments.” The first picture is of Angelina Jolie showing off her leg. The last picture is of Lance Armstrong on a bike. Wearing a helmet. Excuse me while I get over this shock.

Hmm. I guess that’s it. The next five pages are of million dollar dresses and trillion dollar babies. Womp.

So how am I feeling? Kind of underwhelmed. 2012 was a big year, just like every year is a big year when you think about it. I’m already seeing my newsfeed clogged up with people bragging about what they have accomplished this year and what will happen in the next. Soon, there will be pictures of people kissing at midnight and drinking champagne or sitting in their living room ironically doing nothing.

I want to say, I don’t care.

But I really do. As much as I want to be bitter, I am glad to see people I know (or sort of know, or maybe met once, friended, and then never saw again) find success. Hey, it could be you next.

As long as you’re not the post child of “The Worst of 2012,” I think you’re doing just fine.


A Les Miserable Review

WARNING: The following review contains SPOILERS and was written by someone whose only authority comes from four years of high school theatre. All questions, comments, and concerns can be directed to Hugh Jackmen. He’s my secretary, and he loves talking on the phone.

Sacré blur, where do I begin? First of all, even though I peed right before the movie started, I spent the whole first half trying to decide when to leave again so I could rid myself of the three cups of coffee I had with breakfast. This made me kind of impatient and unwilling to cry, because once water came out my eyes, there was no telling where else it could come out. I crossed my fingers for an intermission.

Here is what I felt in the meantime: a lot.

Jean Valjean, played by my favorite DILF, Hugh Jackman, kind of looked like a rat terrier at the beginning of the movie, and worried me a little with his talk singing. It didn’t help that Russell Crowe, as Javert, accidentally wore the stewardess outfit from that movie with Mike Myers and Gwyneth Paltrow (his baby blue hat even had a tassel). However, I was excited by the big screen-ness and the mountains and the rawness of their live singing and beards.

Les Miserables Hugh Jackman Russell Crowe
Continue reading

Sporknotes: Y2K

The following is nine year old Christina giving a minute to minute play-by-play of the turn of the century, when the world was supposed to end. This little gem from “Still December 31, 1999” is written on a giant piece of butterfly-shaped paper with pink lines. Apparently, it took me almost two hours to fill the whole thing.

Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

“It’s now 10:20. I will try to write this like a diary/book. I will put as many photos as possible. [Note: no photos were found with this notebook.] I will write anything that I think about. One of those things is all the computer bugs people talk about. They call it the Y2K Bug. People also say that people will attack three major cities in the USA. I really don’t think so. I just looked at the clock, it’s only 10:30. Only ten minutes have passed! I think it will be forever till midnight. Four minutes have passed. [Clearly I was better at math as a nine year old than I am now.] I know some people [no people] might wonder why I want to write this scrapbook like a diary you could find at the library is because I read so much all my thoughts get sorted like a, well, just like as if I were reading a book. [Great grammar, Wolfgram. You show ’em who’s bookworm.] I know, it is pretty weird, I know. It just how my brain is. [Wow, I was a [bass]hole child!] It’s almost 11:00. I will be sleeping in my mom’s room with my two brothers. Their names are Fatrick (7 going on 8) and Shmaniel (5 going on six). I also have a little sister named Banana, Boey for short (2 going on three). She is too young to sleep with us tonight. I have been watching a really cool and funny mystery movie. I don’t really feel like explaining it when there is still so much more to write. It is 11:30. Everyone is asleep execpt me. Ok, my mom is in a really light sleep. Maybe not. [Any minute now, little me should contemplate what it will be like to die in a fiery apocalypse, right?] My mom and brothers are all snoring. The movie I’m watching is getting very freaky. People always ask me why I like the word freak, what I always say, “I like the sound of it.” Oh my gosh! ten minutes!!!! Yes! This is so great! All my waiting is finally going to pay off! Eight minutes! Seven minutes! Six minutes! Five minutes! Four minutes! Three minutes! Two minutes!!! One minute!!!!!!!!!!

And that’s where my epic diary/soon-to-be-library-book ends. If archeologists someday find this piece of paper, I hope they assume that the end of my butterfly-shaped narrative does indeed signify the end of the world. I guess they will also assume that I am a schizofrenic, because I have no idea who all these “people” I am talking about are. Very upsetting.


Oh well, self discovery. Children are the future, all that. I hope you are enjoying this, the other end of the world!

How To: Terrible Metaphors

Sometimes, you are in anguish.

It could be that you saw a picture of your ex with another girl on Facebook, or that your fantasy football team has managed to win 110% of its games. Maybe your dog decided he hates you, maybe you just found out your entire family is planning on seeing Les Miserables at midnight … without you.

Whatever the anguish-cause may be, if you are an artist (pronounced “art-teest”), then you will inevitably want to express yourself through some sort of art, whether it be pottery formed from mud and tears, or a painting, also formed from mud and tears. I am a writer. It’s taken me a really long time to be able to say that without hating myself, but I heard a volcano or flaming horesman might murder me on Friday, so I’m going to call YOLO on this one.  I am a writer.

As a writer, I express my grief through … writing. Obviously. Why do you think I’m typing so much? Each word adds a few minutes of distraction from my aching tear ducts. Now, I’ve learned (made up) something about art, and that is: you have to write about a million crap things to get one good thing.

And so, dear reader, I thought we could explore some really really terrible metaphors. The theme of this post is misery. Someday, maybe after I publish my first book about my struggle to publish my first book, I will muster up the sunshine to write a bunch of terrible metaphors about happiness. Maybe.

Let’s start with metaphors that involve food. The key is to think of a feeling and then describe it using food as a metaphor. Said my tenth grade English teacher.
– Loneliness is like biting into a bagel and then realizing it is moldy.
– Getting over you is like the worst food poisoning I’ve ever had: even months after the violent vomiting, I can’t trust other foods like I used to.
– I feel like the fruit tray at a breakfast buffet: neglected.
– Being with you is like eating a Hot Pocket: I worked so hard but am somehow so empty. And nauseous.

[Actually, I just realized that all of these are similes, not metaphors. You see, similes use “like,” or “as,” whereas metaphors just state that something is something, like a replacement. Look, I just did another simile right there. Like magic. (Aha! Again!)

I could go back and edit this whole thing, but we’re on a journey together here, people. Sadness has no backspace key!]

Boy oh boy, did that make me want to vom! Let’s move on to metaphors similes that involve bodily functions because those are easy and relate-able because almost everyone has a body!
– Losing you has been like cutting out my own heart and watching a stampede of deer trample it, only to return hours later to nibble at it and bring pieces to their starving young.
– This sadness is like getting a terrible rash when I didn’t even roll in any ivy. Or weird itchy bushes. Or hay from the elephant exhibit at the zoo.
-It feels like my heart got a horrible knee injury, had surgery, but then broke its crutch and fell down five flights of stairs. And then got beat up. And mugged. (That was an inception simile because my heart felt like a knee!)

Wow! Similes sure are a great way to express yourself. Let’s try an old favorite of mine from high school: nature similes!!!
– I am like an over-watered rose, drowning in sadness.
– My thoughts were like rainbows. Now, they are only black and white.
– Unrequited love is like waiting for the crops you spent all summer sowing to grow, but then they don’t and you have to spend winter eating your children hopes and dreams.
– Trying to be happy is like trying to get a fish to breathe out of water: smelly.
– My tears are like rain. Because they are water. Obviously.
– My eyes are like clouds. Because they make water.

See how easy it is to make up absolutely terrible similes?! And it’s super cathartic. I stopped crying into my cat at least four times to laugh at myself while writing this. And you can, too!

Crying into Cats
For the record, all of this has been massively over-dramatized in an effort to make myself laugh. Selfish. If you really are feeling as sad as those metaphors similes, you should probably talk to someone. Like my mom, except whatever your version of my mom is. In the meantime, know that I love you as much as a person can love another person (or robot, no judging here) through a screen.

Feel free to comment with your own terrible metaphors!

Interpreting Christmas Song Lyrics


It’s a tough job, but somebody’s gotta do it.

Christmas Lyrics

I apologize for how little I’ve written this week, but I promise I have been writing other things. Hopefully you will see them on a bookshelf or in a toilet stall in the near future!

Are there any Christmas carol lyrics that you never thought twice about, and then when you did you were like WHAAAA? Share in a comment! Or tell me in person. Or text it to me. Send your owl. I need a cuddle buddy, anyway.


Insulting Resulting

Well, ladies and gentlemen, it is December 8th and I have a word document open that has all of the insults you guys have thrown (typed) at me during the last week. I’m proud to announce the three winners:

3rd place goes to Tiffany Seaman, who actually made me want to throw up and laugh and question my identity for an entire day!
“Who is Christina Wolfgram…?”
So simple, so direct, so painful.

2nd place goes to Nicholas Imbrenda, who caught me by complete surprise very early in the competition.
“Finally after all these years I get to tell the Christina Wolfgram what I really think of her. You madam are nothing more than a voluptuous philandering snollygoster.”
I have no idea if you meant to call me “the” Christina Wolfgram, but tickling my ego and then slamming it with “snollygoster” was awesome. It sounds like a word Roald Dahl would use to describe a fat, greedy, greasy mayor of some poor, gray town. Ugh, I love it. Bravo.

And 1st place goes to someone who also called me “the opposite of Batman.” The insult was well thought out, well crafted, and made my inner third grader weep.

Congratulations Zach Eckstein!!!!
“You don’t even know that the cake is a lie. The force is not with you. You smell worse than the insides of a tauntaun. People like Jar jar binks more than they like you. You are more useless than Mati (the kid with the power of heart from captain planet). If you were Carmen San Diego when someone asked, where in the world you are, it would be a rhetorical question meaning NO ONE CARES. If life is a box of chocolates, you’d be the kind that gets thrown out at the end cause no one wants it. PINK HAIR IS FOR NINNIES.”
I can only hope that the thing about cake being a lie is actually a lie. I think this insult speaks for itself. It’s everything I dreamed. Thank you so much for participating!!

All winners, I will contacting you shortly about the details of your prizes 🙂

Ummm … Okay.

If you didn’t win one of my homemade presents, don’t worry! Keep insulting and someday, you too could be the owner of a paper towel with my handwriting on it.

I want to highlight some of the runners-up, if you will. You people are very sharp crayons. I’m so glad I got to be insulted by you. Here are some of the other insults that at least deserve a tissue:

“You’re not nearly as black metal as your surname would lead one to believe, and quite frankly, I feel scammed. Go to LAX and cry, jerk.

“What kind of person has an insult contest? Oh, is that an attack on your character?”

“I used to think like you. I think I was in preschool when I did.”

“Your hair looks like it was dyed with the tears of a pink clown whose quest for gender equality was stamped upon by the abnormally large, red feet of the other clowns.”

“you smell so bad that you get phone calls from my butt”

“You’re not even worth my time to insult.”

“On the inadequacy scale of 1 – “I brought a supersoaker to a gun fight” your writing falls roughly at “go magikarp!””

“Not even a stray cat would like your hotdogs.”

“You are Insanely, Neurotically, Systematically, Unequivocally Like Tyson.”

Such poetry, you guys! I mean that last one is actually an acrostic poem. That spells out INSULT. That. Is. Magic.

And then, I think some of you got a little confused about what an insult IS:

“this isn’t fair. you’re basically blossom from the power puff girls only more prettier and perfecter. ugh. you suck.
Wait yes! i did it!”

“you dye your hair more than a stripper.”

” …. Slytherin.”

“I have no insults to offer. Sorry.”

Okay, my mom was that last one. She’s such a gem.
So. Uh. Thanks for the … compliments …? I look great in green, I am more hygienic than a stripper, and I am a cartoon super hero? Excuse me while I go write that in my diary …

I’m blown away by how mean you all are. Very good for my faith in humanity.