March Effing Madness

BLARUGHGYIHSKJ. That's how my body feels after the severe abuse it has been taking this month. Why does March always drive me to 1) Drink insane amounts of booze and 2) Eat really bad-for-you food?

Well, I think it's partially because St. Patrick's Day has gone from being an Irish Day that happens once every mid-March to a month long drinking marathon with stops in Hoboken, Manhattan, and Westchester (although I sat this one out this year) along the way. I think this is great and all but the older you get, the less you can hang, which kind of becomes evident as the younger kids rage through the night, and I start throwing elbows at the pizza counter at 9 pm to get some carbs in mah belly.

Also, between New Years and March 1, everybody hides. People only go out in their neighborhoods or short car rides away because going out with a coat in general is just fucking annoying, let alone layering up with a thick sweater that you just end up stripping off when you get hammered. Fuck winter...spring = warm weather = booze which is < boozing outside.

Plus, after the holidays and spending money on winter vacays, people are poor, so everybody I know starts bartending in March. Which kills me because the folks I know make drinks like moonshine. Hence, I end up falling out of my elevator onto my hallway floor. I woke up the next day as looked like, as Mrs. Krabbypatty put it so eloquently, someone "Chris Browned" me. Too soon? Nah.

Then you have your NCAA tournament drinking which really, is just an excuse to get bombed during the week. Last year, I went out to an E. Village bar and ended up getting hammered while trying to pick up guys during a Duke game. Turns out they don;t really like to talk when the game is on. Whoops! This year, I created a bracket based on the names of the schools, and I'm hoping that I can strike a bond at the bar this way. Anyone know the closest Oklahoma-centric bar? (I picked them to win by accident).

Lastly, the end of this month marks the very death of my poor, innocent liver. Since DM is getting married next month, a bunch of us gals are heading to Newport, RI, for her bachelorette party. While this might seem normal to most, let me explain. After DM's shower a bunch of us went out and stayed out. Until 4 AM. People asked us if we were the bachelorette party. Kids, you ain't seen nothing yet. I wouldn't be surprised if someone ends up A) Seriously injured B) Pregnant or C) coming face to face with the entirety of their stomach contents. Let's hope none of those are me!!

Overall, March is month of drinking and being a degenerate. Which is what I seem to do best. I mean, c'mon, it may hurt, but it hurts sooooooo good.

Do I need Tough Love?

So Vh1 is pimping its new show called Tough Love. In short, some douchey dating guru takes a batch of classless ladies and teaches them how to snag a man who will want them for more than one night. The commercials speak common sense to me, so I assume the show will follow suit and the only reason to watch is to laugh at these sad little disasters. Or is it? I'm not the type who goes on dates all the time or the kind of gal who can attract the type of man that would actually be a suitable match. Maybe I could take a tip since my dating life can be boiled down to two things: stalking and utter disinterest. Not on my part. See, I either meet a decent guy and he texts me 28 times in one night (this happened two weeks ago) or I like a dude and he blatantly ignores me because I have a tendency to blend into the background when I really like someone.

Let's face it. We can all improve. As the sage Kelly Clarkson sings, "I know I've got issues, but you're pretty messed up too." I do have issues. Tons. And I'm pretty sure that most of them can be chalked up to quirks. But really, admit it men of NYC, you are pretty messed up too. Maybe I just mingle with the wrong sort. Here's what I deal with:

Species: The Beer Geek
Locations: Fratty bars where everybody has a friend who is bartending that night
Known For: Drinking crappy beer and ordering round after round of shots
Beware: This man WILL give you a hangover and cause you immense amounts of shame within your social circle.

Species: The Has-Been
Location: Your hometown, known to appear around holidays, especially the night before Thanksgiving
Known For: Being super hot in high school
Beware: This man has gone down hill since the late nineties. Most likely has a receding hair line and beer gut and quite possibly, a wife. May have tendencies to resent people who moved out of town. It is OK to reminisce, but approach with caution, as objects tend to appear younger and hotter the more drinks consumed.

Species: The Re-Run
Location: Most likely close to where you currently live
Known for: Not being a total asshole the first time around...in fact, you aren't sure why things ended
Beware: There IS a reason things ended. Even if you have good sex blinders on you will remember eventually and nobody likes a repeat offender.

Species: The One That Got Away
Locations: God only knows now.
Known for: Being perfect in every way, and even more perfect over time.
Beware: As the years pass, women develop selective memory. Just because somebody maintained their looks over time, doesn't mean they are still that same old sweetie you remember. Don't forget: It's easy to remember him bringing you flowers, especially when you don't recall the time he kicked you out of his car for puking.

Species: The Neil Patrick Harris
Locations: There's one in every crowd
Known for: Being really fun, knowing the lyrics to Britney songs, wearing a preponderance of pink shirts and never being able to find a nice girl.
Beware: If it looks like a duck and acts like a duck...it's probably gay. But be nice and try and set him up with that cute guy in your office who lets you know when Perez posts something funny.

Species: The Mickey Rourke
Locations: They resurface every so often, cause a big fuss and then fade away
Known for: Being really hot and then having a tragic downfall, like jail or rehab. But then they come back a little broken but kind of better than before.
Beware: Call Dr. Drew because homeboy will prolly relapse before you can call "dibs" on his ass.

Species: The Tool
Locations: Everywhere, like roaches, these guy will survive the nuclear holocaust
Known for: General douchebaggery
Beware: You know he's bad for you, but the other half of the bed ain't gonna warm itself. Slap yourself, pinch yourself do whatever it takes, because this will most liekly end with you crying and gaining ten pounds in "fuck him" weight.

Species: The One That's Undercooked
Locations: Most likely moved away or living somewhere married
Known for: Being really awesome and totally perfect, except he "wasn't ready for anything serious."
Beware: That whole line about not being ready for anything serious is code for you aren't the right girl. And that sucks. Balls. So don't invest any time, it's like investing in stock that you will never get a return from. Send him back so they can re-fire him and serve it to someone else.

Species: The Stalker
Locations: They dwell at night, usually between the hours or midnight and 5 am or until they pass out
Known For: Calling non-stop, especially while drunk
Beware: Sure it might be cute to have a textual flirtation but be advised: this man will not stop. Ever. So don't ever show him where you live or introduce him to your pet rabbit.

Species: The Normal Guy
Locations: Like unicorns and zero-calorie vodka, these men are mostly mythical. But when a solar eclipse occurs during a half moon on the 18th, you just might get to see one!
Known for: Being awesome, liking the your favorite sports team (Mets for me, obvs) and has general good sense to just be effing normal.
Beware: If you see one, approach with caution and make sure he knows you only come with good intentions. Do not show signs of excitement, as this may make the normal guy run for the hills, only to run away on a rainbow to swim in a chocolate river with leprechauns and Edward Cullen.

Now to be fair, I am a commitment-phobe with major Daddy issues, but at least I'm not on the pole and I'm pretty open-minded (I mean, I've given all of the described above a fair shot minus the normal one).

So do we all need Tough Love? Should we all just get a coach to tell us what to do and say? Probably not, because in the end, every pot has a lid, no matter how many times that pot has slept with your roommate.

Know of more species? Post them in the comments.

PSA: QUIET! PLEASE!

Since last Thursday, my internet has been busted in my apartment. Due to my lack of job situation, I have to utilize the free WiFi at my neighborhood library instead of paying to work out of Starbucks (which I did one day and ended up stinking like a Colombian brew house).

I'll start this post off on a good note by saying I'm happy that the WiFi is free (or that our tax $ is covering it). Also, my branch has a great spot to sit and use your laptop, complete with power strip so my battery doesn't die.

BUT. And this is a big BUT. I recall learning that one must be quiet in a public library as not to disturb the other people doing research/reading/working. I mean, we had a library class in grade school where we learned this. My hometown had signs that reminded people to be quiet.

Apparently that is not the case at the Columbus Branch here on 10th Ave. Here are some things that have happened to me in total of 5 hours I have spent here:

1. Sat down to a woman talking to herself, loudly. Seems she and her other personalities were having a disagreement.
2. Sat across from a man working on his laptop. This would seem normal, except he was hacking up chunks of lung all over everyone.
3. Teenage/Tweenage boys sat at the public computer next to me and started to read MySpace pages out loud. At one point one started talking about this young woman's "boobs." He had obviously never touched one.
4.A young woman called her friends over to a public computer and read aloud her IM conversation. She did the voices and everything. At full volume.
5. Today, another young woman is browsing MySpace pages. People have songs on their pages. She is listening to the songs. They are bad, loud, disruptive songs.

This is just a taste. All of this goes on while I try to get my freelance assignments done so I can (maybe?) get paid and make rent without dipping into my savings. So before I go all crazy Ghostbusters library ghost on these people, I like to go with a little Carl Winslow and say to myself "Three, Two, One. One, Two, Three. What the heck is bothering me?"

It's not working. What's bothering me is the screeching of chairs and the slamming of books and bags and the bad disruptive music that this girl is listening to AS I WRITE THIS. And I have my iPod on.

Any tips on not going crazy on these people? Because I'm a few seconds from standing on my chair and screaming profanities.

If you seek gingy...

London and I were bumming on the couch and I had mentioned that my friend, Gingervision, was off at the Sundance Film Festival doing some work. The conversation went something like this:

Me: Gingervision is in Sundance doing some work.

London: Oh, what kind?

Me: Photo type stuff, like trandsponding or something, I dunno what photo people do.

London: Oh, that's awesome.

Me: Yea, I'm jeal. She went to some Minnie Driver movie and saw Andrew Bernard from the Office.

London: What did she say?

Me: Oh the usual tipsy banter that occurs when you see celebs under the influence.

London: Why is she a banana?

Me: Um, huh? (thinking that that banana is like a silly word for a person who tipsily accosts celbs)

London: Why is she a banana?

Me: Huh? (Looking totally puzzled)

London: Her photo, why is she a banana?

Me: OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH? Her facebook photo. Oh, she was one for Halloween.

London: A banana? That's so funny! She's so funny!

Me: Yea she is.


End scene.

End incredibly lame post.

I'm a Libra but my scales are always tipping.

I was hopeful when I turned 26. Thought this year would finally bring everything I've been working/praying for.

Started out on a shitty note with an experience that was just a little shy of heartbreak. Then, the corporate stars aligned and I got promoted. Yay!

I started working with a co-worker who seemed to have some sort of vendetta against me from another life. Then, hooray, my nephew was born! Another reason to celebrate!

Then, I got really drunk at a friend's bachelorette and fell down, skinning my knee and elbow. Boo. At the end of June, I took a vacation just to clear my head and get things done around the house. Yay for time off...oh wait, shouldn't this be awesome?

Day three of vacation, find out my job no longer exists. Three days later, find out my dog is dying and is going to be put to sleep. A week later, find out that promised freelance work is a glorified internship and I'm stuck with 21-year-olds for two months.

I think it's time for my scales to tip up, not to put me on a high, just to make me balanced, the way I like, and apparently need, to be.

So can someone out there make something slightly good happen to me? Like a job or a new crush (although that heartbreak earlier in my 26th year has come back to haunt me--I'm a glutton for punishment) or anything like that? Pleeeeeeeeaaaseeeeeeeeee?

Goya Oh Boya!

So all in all, I had about an hour of free time in Chicago. I decided to see some sights. I had heard a lot about one particular thing.

"The face of Chicago has changed overnight. With the grand opening of the 475 million dollar Millennium Park July 16th, and the unveiling of the newest and most striking public sculpture, Cloudgate, all guidebooks were instantly rendered obsolete. That's because artist Anish Kapoor's Cloudgate, already lovingly referred to by Chicagoans as "The Bean," is a sensational, 110-ton, highly polished steel monolith shaped like a kidney bean that draws you to it with its ever-changing reflections of the city skyline, surrounding park and, of course, your own, elusive mirror-image - harder to find than you think." source


I saw the bean and took some artsy photos...

Then, in a moment of pure immaturity, I started cracking up (mind you I was by myself) and took this.

Yes, I flicked the bean.

Ho-tel, Mo-tel, Holiday Inn....

Hotel living suits me. As I write this, I just showered with expensive toiletries at hand (Crabtree & Evelyn), my clothes are hung up and ironed in my closet, I'm drnking a cup of fershly brewed tea and getting ready to go to bed at 10:30 pm.

Looks like Chicago has aged me into my forties and it agrees with me, I look fab.

On the other hand, I almost slipped when I got into the shower and I realized that if I fell and died, no one would find me until Tuesday when I'm supposed to check out. Whoever found me would see all of my naked lady parts. Even in death I'm still modest.

So I got out and rested my cell phone on the floor next to the tub just in case.

Being single sometimes blows. But at least I smell like delicious Crabtree & Evelyn products (although I've never seen anyone under the age of 40 shop there...shit!).

More on my Chi-town trip when I return. And no, I did not get to hang with the former crush and put an end to my lust. Figure I wouldn't keep leading you on there. Unlike some people I know.

Yay for Friday in Lent!

Every Friday in Lent means it's pizza day! I order pizza for dinner every week!!

I just ordered (I will not disclose how much pizza) and then I realized, I forgot to order my grape soda. If you have not tried it, pizza and a grape soda is the best combo EVER!!!

Luckily, I have a cherry coke stored in the fridge! Yay for Fridays in Lent!

My past still haunts me. I confess: I was a cheerleader.

Yes, it's true. There was a time when running around in nothing more than midriff-bearing tops and teeny skirts made me happy. I loved poms. I owned Kappa sneakers. I took private gymnastic lessons. I carried a megaphone. I suffered injuries (and think I have the early signs of an arthritic knee and wrist). There were no qualms about wearing warm up suits. I did spirit fingers and made rock and roll signs with my hands. Sponge curlers are a useful hair styling tool and I know how to use them. Never dropped a Spirit Stick and yes, I brought it on.

Okay, so it's out there. I started in the 4th grade and was hooked. It was girly and it was fun and by 5th grade, I was a captain and my sister was my coach (At the time, I didn't think one thing had to do with the other, now it's sort of obvious, although I was pretty damn dedicated). We cheered during the fall for boys basketball and in the winter we competed. Hard core. We didn't mess.

By high school, Spanish and I were all but drafted as freshman onto the varsity squad. Our talent was sort of benched for year since we were the newbies but we went to Nationals, hit the big blue mat, and watched the seniors choke. Whatever, we had three more years. Oh, and we weren't allowed to cheer for the boys school since they had thrown condoms at squads in the past. We cheered for the girls basketball team.

Sophmore year, at one point, I had to tumble five times in our routine. I coined the term "backheadspring" since would sort of flop over on my head and stand up. I'm sure I had concussions and looking back, I am thankful I never broke my neck. Nationals again, we were better this time but not good enough.

Junior year, at this point, most of my friends were on my team. Coincdentally, I hated the rest of our team. Florida again. More choking. I got in trouble for flirting with ugly male cheerleaders. It was retarded and we sort of sucked. But we got new uniforms. I remember this because I had a 22 inch waist a 6-pack at the time. Ha! I became the girl who showed up in her uniform reeking of ciggies.

Senior year, Spanish and I defected to an All-Star team. At this point I was sticking with it for college and secretly wanted to be a coach/instructor. We got uniforms that showed our stomachs. We had a fat girl on our team. That was mean. At one point, I slept through the SAT II's because I was awake from a practice and was stressed about a competition the same day. I drove in a blizzard, visit several doctors for my wrist injury, and finally got on a squad that didn't choke. We rocked every competition. Until nationals, when due to an injury that happened 5 minutes before we hit the mats, Spanish's base couldn't really perform well. Boo. I hung up my shoes that day. Literally, on my wall.

There were camps (retarded because I could never find a place to smoke) and clinics and bake sales and pep rallys. I loved it. Until it stopped being fun. By college I was done and I just wanted to drink and smoke. I went to a meeting to see what our team was about. They didn't compete and they sucked so I bailed. Although, if I knew then what would happen to my teeny taut body then what I know now I would have slapped the smile on and picked up the poms.

Okay, all that boring shit aside, I stumbled on this website yesterday and found this:

REALLY? How old are these kids, 5, maybe 6? And the kid bellys are in full effect ('cept for my girl in the middle, she's ripped!). Full makeup and hair too! Since when is something that requires extreme agility, strength, and flexibility, a training camp for TEENY WHORES?

If you look at pic of me when I was 9, my skirt is clearly down to my knees. Our tops were sweater material. Not all this silver polyester sparkle and baby belly. This just makes me angry. My mom would NEVER let me rock this gear. I hope these poor kids don't lose their viriginty under the bleachers after the big game.

I pray I have only sons.

The Guythagorean Theorem

In an email conversation with DMBMeg, we wondered why it's always the lame guys that like us the most. Sure someone awesome will want to diddle me every so often, but it's always the lamest, weeniest possible people who want to date me. The kind of guy that wears his heart on his sleeve and tells you what an "amazing person" you are. The kind of guy that cuddles. The kind of guy that wants you to take the lead in the bedroom ALL THE TIME. The kind that isn't really funny, doesn't have much personality...kind of like the Whitney Port of guys. In a sense, a big weenie.

I am totally his type.

I have a theory that when it comes to strong and independent minded women, manly men just stay away. It's like we are a threat to their machismo. Sure they can think we are hot and want to bone us but the second we assert ourselves and say what we want we get put on the shelf.

It's like Type-A doesn't mesh with another Type-A's. You hear about power couples and I think it's bull. It's either people in a relationship of convenience (Hillary and Bill) OR some sort of weird balancing act that only exists in a perfect world.

The math works out like this:

Type A + Type B = Power wife and Mr. Mom

Type A + Type A = devizzzle


Maybe it's because I say no and I argue and always think I'm right. Maybe it's because I'm so used to answering only to myself that I give off this "I am not one to be fucked with"-vibe. Maybe I just seem scary because I refuse to be something I'm not.

Or maybe it's all my problem. Maybe I am bound to end up with a lame-ass girly-man who lets me run the show and never challenges me. God I hope not. I thrive on the challenge and I want to be led. I want someone to prove me wrong and show me that they can be the boss of me. I want someone to take control and show me how it's done rather than the other way around. I want a teacher and a leader and someone who wants me to be the same. I want the one I'm not supposed to, the one that let me down (just under different circumstances). I wish I could go back in time and change some things and find a way to make it happen rather than giving up. I wish I had never had found out what he did but I would be delusional if I wasn't somewhat relieved that I have.

Since none of that is possible, I'm left to figure out where I'm going and what the hell I'm taking from all of this. I'm a getting stronger? Am I learning more about myself? Because lately I just feel lost, like I've been on the shelf for a while and if someone doesn't notice me soon I might expire. Life is happening all around me but it's not happening to me. Essentially, except for my job and number of sexual partners, I am in the same place I was four years ago. Sitting here, on the laptop, staying strong and still chasing the boys away, one weenie at a time.

Or maybe I just need to learn how to be the neck and learn how to keep control without letting a guy know I have it. Maybe I need to compromise and ease up. (I can think of three people who will scream: DUH! to this.)

So am I destined to marry someone who will be my bitch for the rest of my life or will someday, someone find my sense of self and opinions exhilarating and fun? Or am I just a hot mess who is confused with how the world works? Or someone who is obviously overlooking the right guy for her (this I don't think is true)? Or, gulp, am I just someone who was meant to be alone and live a more solitary life? Only time can answer those questions for me, but if this theorem works out...the girly-men of NYC better watch out.

Everyone should have a list.

As I write this I am supposed to be getting ready for my second date with [redacted]. He's a really nice guy but I find myself feeling a sense of dread every time we make plans. It's not him. I actually had a good time with him last time we went out. It's this part of relationships that I hate. The "Let's have awkward small talk and get to know each other."

Like most people in their mid-twenties, I have accumulated a laundry list of crap that I really try to stay away from discussing in the beginning of a relationship. It's hard to explain that my mom nver remaried after her divorce, but there's this guy who hangs out at our house all day and this woman who babysat me as a child is still around like a grandmother. Honestly, when I explain this, people ask how my Uncle Jesse is doing.

Everyone has their weird habits too. No one is normal. I wish that on all second dates (the first date is just a test drive to see if the person is generally in your own expectations of normal) each party had to show up with their list of weird shit that needs to be aired out before things went any further. Seriously, if you tend to be a gassy person, it owuld just be easier to say it up front put up front. That way those months of waiting for the other person to accidentally fart aren't as painful and the first slip of gas isn't as embrassing. Trust me, it's TERRIBLY embarassing when it does happen and yes, I've has the SATC moment where it happened one morning after sex. Yes boys, girls fart! Most of us pretty regularly and often accidentally. We just don't announce it and ask others to smell it. It's kind of like when there was a kid with really bad acne in grade school. Everyone knew it was there but chose to ignore it until it cleared up. Or like if you've ever paid for sex...I mean these are things people need to know.

So in hopes that this will start a trend, I am publishing my list of shit that guys should know about me before we start dating:
1. I have a pretty bad fear of committment and general emotional intimacy.
2. I have slept with enough people that sometimes I feel guilty about the number but I am still learning what I like and what I don't like. [Note: Compared to many people I know this number is not rediculously high--it's all pretty normal for someone who is 26, but 18 years of Catholic school has taught me to feel ashamed about this.]
3. Before I take a shower I usually stare at myself in the mirror searching for imperfections.
4. I hate the mole on my chin but the dermotologist won't remove it.
5. I am a messy person.
6. I watch way too much television and am addicted to celebrity gossip.
7. Somedays I wish I were famous.
8. I shower the night before work, not in the morning before, because I prefer to get the extra sleep when it's light out. I would sleep only in the day if I could.
9. I have had a gym membership fr two years. I've used it three months total.
10. I usually start out relationships by pretending I'm a non-smoker or "trying to quit." It's kind of a lie. Although a serious attempt at quitting is scheduled for after my Vegas trip with DM.
11. I don't like morning sex until I've brushed my teeth. Please do not attempt this.
12. I hate snuggling in bed in general.
14. I don't hate pornography.
15. I hate small talk and can seem socially awkward when I attempt this.
16. I like what most people my age consider to be "bad" music.
17. I sometimes curse and burp like a truck driver.
18. If I have a pimple, I will try to pop it (luckily this does not happen often).
19. I'm bossy.
20. I don't eat sea food. I think it's gross.
21. I sing badly and often. I usually combine this with my white girl dance moves.


I think that's a pretty good outline. I'm sure I've forgotten plenty of things. Now I suggest all you single folks out there take a long look at yourself and do the same. Let's make this a thing!

I'm Twenty Six.

It's been officially twenty-four hours since my birthday. I am now twenty-six. For the first time I can ever remember, I actually feel like I've gotten older. This might sound weird. Let me explain. I don't feel old (except during my hangovers) and I don't look old (except during my hangovers) but I feel older. Older, wiser and maybe a little more mature. Still a kid at heart but old enough to know better. Head still in the clouds but feet planted firmly on the floor. I can say it now. I am twenty-mothereffing-six.

Some of you who read this will know why this past birthday became, er, somewhat difficult for me. I won't dwell on the details because I already attempted processing my feelings on Monday and that ended up giving me ridiculously puffy eyes for a day and a phone call to Domino's pizza on 40th street. In the end, I gave myself a day to work through, well, I guess what I'll call an "episode."

At the end of it all, I've realized I've learned so much over the past year. I've found myself wondering lately, in a world of weddings, babies and people buying property, that it can feel like I've jut been standing still for the past three years. But I'm on my own unpaved road here, and more so than I thought, 25 brought me many a life lesson. Here are some I thought I'd share with my usual vague details.

1. Like Dr. Phil says, "It's ok." For the first time in like, years, I felt myself falling for someone. This time I didn't walk away. In the end, it wasn't right (see #2) but I am proud of myself for letting go and actually feeling something again.

2. People can disappoint you no matter how much you believe in them. You can't will someone to change. In the case of this person I really hope they do someday. I won't be there waiting because I think they have cooties now, but I saw a glimpse of potential of a great person that I could have really given my all for. But you know, cooties is a deal breaker.

3. One cannot fathom the miracle of life until someone you know has a baby. Like literally the baby was inside and the next day was chilling in the hospital. It still amazes me.

4. I've lowered my expectations of people. People will always let you down. If you lower your expectations, it takes some of the sting of disappointment away.

5. Growing up is scary. I hate fear. That is the root of all of my anxiety. My fear of fear.

6. I can't control everything in my life. Hence my necessity for TOTAL control of the things I can actually manage.

7. Marriage isn't a race with winners or losers. (Do you hear that Heidi and Spencer?) And even assholes get married all the time. Think about it: If marriage was a game Pam Anderson, Liz Taylor and J.Lo would be winning.

8. The past is like a ghost that will keep haunting you until you make your peace with it.

9. Things change, people evolve (ok totally stolen from Dawson's Creek but Joey Potter was soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo right).

10. Just because you think someone is the right person for you, it doesn't mean they are.

11. I am who I am and there are a lot of people who like me this way. Those who don't can suck it.

12. Kelly Clarkson follows me around and writes songs inspired by my life (ok, just a theory, but I'm putting it out there).

13. You can't change the past. It's ok to let some of your dreams die. Life won't turn out the way you always imagined it. All you can do is move on and find your own way. Even if that motion is at the pace of a turtle. Then again, the tortoise came out on top in the end.

Sorry this was so boring and self-serving but it's been that kind of week.