TACKS, Y'ALL.

Okay, I am PISSED, y'all. Like Britney-with-an-Umbrella mad. Yesterday, I went out in my little red Focus to run some errands, buy some presents and such, and I pulled into the garage. I get out of the car, and it's like YAY, K IS HOME! So we huuuuuug since we haven't seen each other in a few days, and we wind up on the passenger side of the car. K looks down to my tire, and says "hey, what did you run over?" I follow his eyes down to my right front tire, and...

IT'S TACKS, Y'ALL. TACKS. Not just one. A whole BUNCH of effing tacks. So K, being the wonder mechanic that he is, gets out some tools and starts pulling the tacks out of my tire. And I'm flat out in tears, because I've been having a shit day anyhow, and this is really just the cherry on top. So he pulls THREE out, plus two without heads, and they're just sitting there in an evil little pile on the garage floor. Just out of curiousity, I walk to the back of my car to check out the rear tire. And what do I find... MORE TACKS. FIVE more tacks, to be exact. Which means there are MORE in the back tire than in the front. Fucking fantastic.

So K is desperately trying to keep me from having the breakdown of the century and is saying things like "it's okay, baby"... and "they must have just been in the street."

But WERE THEY?

See, this scenario could have gone down two ways.

Scenario A: A cute old schoolteacher comes out of Target carrying bags upon bags of school supplies that she can barely carry herself. She gets to her Buick Stationwagon, pops the trunk, and drops the supplies for her underpriviledged third graders all up in the parking lot. A taped box of tacks hits the ice so hard that it pops open, innocently spewing eight tacks in a neat little row. Poor lady. Maybe you should pick up those tacks you spewed.

Scenario B: Some punk kids are bored to death on a Wednesday night and think it might be funny to line up some sharp weapons in the street. They pull their hoods up over their red beady little eyes at the mall, and loiter near the pole, smoking packs of Kools and watching to see which unsuspecting patron of the Tar-jay will run them over.

I'm going to go with Scenario B, although K tried his damndest to convince me it could really have all been an accident, bless his heart. I just don't see how that would be a possibility given that they are all on the outside of my tire, in a neat little row, spaced almost symmetrically apart. I'd just like to add to this, that these tires are BRAND fucking new. Literally, I bought them in August or September. So now, I have to either have K spend hours trying to find all of these tiny devil holes in my tires, or go buy TWO new tires.

Honestly, this is shaping up to be the best week of my life.

An Open Letter to American Idol

Dear American Idol,

I'll admit, you've lost me in the past several years. The mean comments, though hilarious (and truthful in their own right) were hard to watch. I'd cringe every time Simon crushed the dreams of the child singing before him like the Grinch putting Cindy Lou Who in a headlock. The contestants weren't memorable--I couldn't even tell you who won last year, or the past 5 for that matter. I wasn't sure what would happen when you introduced new judges into the mix. I was skeptical, at best. And dammit, I really miss William Hung.

But you did it. You wooed me back with your quippy on-camera interviews, new judge lineup, and plethora of golden ticket winners picking up Ryan Seacrest and spinning him around like a ragdoll. I even decided to DVR you this year. And last night's episode was no disappointment, though I DO wish we got to see more BAD contestants make fools of themselves in front of their grandmothers. That makes me spit out my milk.

And somehow, with the surprisingly sweet demeanor of Steven Tyler (did anyone else think he was going to take on the role of the asshole?) and the reluctance of J-Lo to say "no", you managed to create a combination of hilariousness and heartwarming with the stories of a few contestants. And this is where I get sappy for a moment.

I fastforwarded that DVR all the way to the end, and got the kleenex out so I could see to what degree Chris Medina would make me cry. His cute pictures with his beautiful girlfriend had to lead to SOME terrible story, I was sure. And I was right. Turns out, Chris was two months away from being wed to his gorgeous fiancee when she got into an accident. She is now wheelchair bound and severely brain damaged. And do you know it--though he could have walked away from that girl, (they were two months shy of marrying) instead, he stood right by her. He's 26, and now for the rest of his life he will be taking care of her along with her mother. He sacrificed so much, and I can't help but think-- what an amazing human being he is. In this day and age of people hopping from marriage to marriage, loyalty far from the center of most people's hearts; instant gratification and superficial demeanors, this man stood by the woman he loves, and I am truly inspired by him. Not that I think that people should get a free golden ticket to the Willy Wonka factory just because of their heartbreaking stories, but it sure does give you hope for the future of mankind.

And so, American Idol--with this, you have won me back. I have even gone so far to record the series on my DVR (K will be THRILLED, I'm sure), and I have several more hot dates with Steven, J-Lo and Randy in the next several weeks. I've put the ring back on, and turned your pictures face-up again; I can't wait to see what you have in store for our future. Hopefully more people bringing giant toothbrushes onto the stage and smacking the camera as they storm off, sans golden ticket.

Snowflowers

Sunflowers that K wired to the back fence for me :)

I was having a really bad day a few weeks ago. I couldn't put my finger on it; it just didn't go as well as I'd planned. My computer wasn't working well downstairs, so I had to come upstairs to use the desktop. I hate having to do that, because I miss all the action downstairs when K is home. I was moping about how my programs were taking forever to load when I looked down and saw the corner of our yard, where five dead sunflowers were wired to our back fence in the middle of several feet of snow. The corners of my mouth turned up in a Grinch-like smile, and I forgot what I was so upset about.

Okay, I know this sounds crazy--but to me it makes perfect sense. You see, they're wired there because over the summer when we planted them, the heads got so large that they started to wilt. I was so sad when I saw how our beautiful flowers, the living beings K and I had planted together in the backyard, falling over, preparing to die. When he saw how sad I was, K went out back with some wire and tied each flower individually to the fence, so they wouldn't fall over and make me sad. When I saw what he had done, I couldn't help but burst into tears. He just wanted to make me happy. He saw how upset I was, and he fixed them for me. Never in my life have I had someone do something so sweet for me. And in the middle of this blizzardy winter, there are five sunflowers standing upright in my back yard, with little caps of snow on top of them, reminding me of how I am the luckiest girl in the world.

Zumba Ass-Kicking Extravaganza

Zumba kicks your ass. Plain and simple. Like MacGyver on a drug dealer, it beats you down until you cry. This weekend, after 3 months of not going to the gym and letting my sister and K cook amazing meals for me, I decided to join my girlfriends in a 2-hour class of non-stop booty kicking action.

Now, my friend Jes is one of the instructors--and she is PHENOMENAL. I had a bit of a time trying to follow along with the other instructors, seeing as how I'm notorious in my family for being the klutziest klutz who ever lived and they are Zumba-awesome. So considering that, I think I did a pretty damn good job. And I had a really fun time with my girls doing it.

So if you've never done it, here is Zumba in a nutshell: spicy Latin music and some current hits that I recognized (You wouldn't peg me for a hip-hop loving girl, would you? I like to keep you on your toes, readers.) a seemingly simple repetition of steps that you follow along with the instructor, and some crazy arm movements that prove to be the cherry on top of the ass-kicking extravaganza. Individually, the leg movements and the arm movements are manageable. But trying to put those two together was the real challenge for me. So I chose to do my own interpretation of most of the moves, and stayed WAY in the back so I wouldn't knock into the other, obviously more Zumba-inclined members of this class.

The thing that's awesome about it is that nobody judges you. Several times throughout the class (more than I'd like to admit, actually) I stopped and sat out a song for a water break. (I was WINDED, okay? Don't judge me.) And I just kind of bopped along with the music, still watching the instructor on the stage. I was still having an awesome time, just needed a little break for some agua. And they were totally cool about it! Nobody turned and gave you the stink eye, they just got their dance on.

So if you're in the mood for changing up (or starting) your workout routine, I'd totally recommend it. Just maybe do some stretches first, and don't eat a stuffed pepper and an elephant ear beforehand, or you might pass out from exhaustion.

Empty Nest

Well, it has finally happened, guys. My little birdies have flown the nest. After 3 months of staying with us, my sister and her boyfriend found a place of their own. Now that they are both grown ups with awesome jobs, they have moved about an hour away to be closer to work. And I am SO incredibly happy for them to have their own place, but I miss them. A lot.

For one, my sister is a master chef and cooked us dinner all the time. I'll admit it, I got a little spoiled. Now, (when K isn't here--because he cooks amazing meals for me when he is) I'll have to go back to macaroni and cheese and Hot Pockets for dinner.

And as much as I enjoy my solitude, I will CERTAINLY miss having people here when K is traveling for work to enjoy my trashy reality TV with. Yelling at Amber Portwood on Teen Mom is just not the same when nobody is around to hear your screams. And who will get up from the couch to retrieve my slippers when I throw them at the TV?

But, I must say--after almost 5 years of living in different states, I am SO thankful to have them so close to me. They are both family, and having them here makes my life in NY even more awesome. Plus, when K got home last night, he got me some gorgeous flowers because he knew I was down. And the kitties have been extra snuggly too. I am such a lucky girl :)

Put on your rhinestone seatbelts, kiddies

Nothing scares me more than stage moms. Their lipstick-smeared grins and mom jeans, ripping fistfuls of ribboned pigtail out of their 7-year-old's head while she bawls uncontrollably, Maybelline running down her face.

I caught a few episodes of Little Miss Perfect again today, and I'm sorry I did. You can just TELL by the way the it's filmed that whoever came up with the concept of the show did it to make fun of the idea. An econ professor, a former pageant queen, and a cashier from McDonalds perch in a menacing row, judging girls wearing a mountain of sequins and enough makeup to make RuPaul cringe. The girls come out, all Vaseline smiles and taffeta, and spin slowly on the stage while the judges criticize their costumes, talent, faces.

I love when they pan to the moms in the crowd, though. They sit in all their former glory, overweight and overbearing, coaching their princess from the metal folding chairs. Their smiles are too wide, their boobs saggy, their disapproval evident as they soak up the spotlight vicariously through their offspring.

They spend hours with the tools of their torture: curling irons, teeth whitening kits, faux tanning sprayers, complaining that the people they hired to take care of these things are incompetent and unworthy to live.

Then the end of the show comes; the girls are lined up on stage like tiny Skipper dolls, while the host of the show, the creepiest creepster who thinks he's a pageant queen himself, lives out his American Idol dreams and serenades the girls with a pedophilic melody. And I can't help but think to myself that an appropriate punishment for these buffoons would be to box the host and the moms up in plastic boxes and put them on the shelf in a toy store for the remainder of eternity, a-la the N'Sync video "Bye Bye Bye."

45 Interesting Gems About Me

I thought I'd do one of these jobbies to give you a little insight to my life. I was inspired to do this by The Real Mandy Moore, who cracks me up.

1. I used to intern at Cosmo.
2. I wear my Snuggie slippers almost every day.
3. I work from home full-time.
4. It severely erodes my social skills.
5. I have 3 cats.
6. I’m pretty obsessed with them.
7. I have had the same car since I was 16—a Ford Focus.
8. Her name is Chloe.
9. I believe everything happens for a reason.
10. In middle school, I was in a musical titled “Tied to the Tracks.” I played Prarie Rose, and I carried a faux gun. I still have the costume.
11. I have been cheated on.
12. I met the other woman face-to-face and buried the hatchet over several cigarettes and lots of beer. She apologized to me.
13. Approaching her was the single bravest thing I’ve ever done in my life, and it allowed me to move on.
14. Years later, after moving to New York, I was in a magazine article about being single, with a real photo shoot and everything. It made me feel beautiful again.
15. I have a natural blonde streak in my dark hair that is a birth mark. Most people think I dye it.
16. I have 8 or 11 carebears. All of my original carebears were tossed, so I went on ebay and bought an original Love-a-Lot. (He’s my fave)
17. Last week, the mail lady yelled at me for not shoveling our front porch. We are now mortal enemies.
18. I went to a school for smart kids when I was younger.
19. I think it made it a little harder to feel like I belonged.
20. Last night, I watched the episode of Golden Girls with a pre-SBTB Mario Lopez.
21. My parents are divorced.
22. Up until a few months ago, some of my family was estranged because of the divorce.
23. We have recently started talking again, and it has given me a great sense of peace.
24. I adopted my kitty Linus 9 days before I met K.
25. Because of this, May is the luckiest month of the year for me.

Heart Po, then and now: after a cotton-y explosion.

26. I cannot sleep without my pink gingham heart-shaped pillow named Heart Po, which my mom made for me when I was born.
27. The reason I know my boyfriend is The One is that he recently re-covered HP when he had a cotton-y explosion in the dryer. Got the sewing machine out and everything. He is a KEEPER.
28. I was a softball pitcher in high school, and I once ran smack into my catcher while trying to catch a foul ball.
29. On one of my first dates with K, I got into his car and ripped the entire ass out of my jeans.
30. It has been almost an entire year (Feb 7) since I’ve had a cigarette.
31. It took me 3 months to get used to being as happy as I am with K, I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.
32. I still say “pop” instead of “soda.”
33. I call sliding glass doors “doorwalls.”
34. I didn’t know it was weird until I moved to New York.
35. I watch Gilmore Girls almost every day.
36. I would totally go see a movie if they made one.
37. I feel like K is my Luke.
38. I feed stray cats in the neighborhood. It annoys K because it attracts skunks and possums too, but I can’t help it.
39. I have had a recurring nightmare about getting married where I flee the church in terror moments before the ceremony. The dress changed in each episode, but my sister and my mom were always with me in the dressing room. I could never see the groom’s face.
40. After I met K, I had the same dream. It was the first time that I could see the groom’s face, and instead of being terrified, I was elated. I called him the moment I woke up, at 5am, to tell him.
41. That was the last time I ever had the dream.
42. Linus’ name came from my favorite movie, Sabrina, not Peanuts like most people think.
43. I once backpacked in Europe for 7 weeks with an awesome group of people; it makes me feel like we all have a special bond because of it.
44. My current favorite font is “Selfish” (as evidenced by the title of my blog.)
45. I started this blog to rediscover who I am, to open up and feel connected to people in a way I never have before. It's scary to let people know this much about you, but it's incredibly liberating too. And I really appreciate that so many people care about what I have to say.

LOM Day

Pajamas were the uniform of the day today. We stocked up on the essentials: pizza rolls, mozzarella sticks, cheetos, chicken nuggets, french fries, and ice cream. I know, I know... I'll start the diet next week, I swear. This was an emergency. It was LOM Day.

LOM Day (Lifetime Original Movie Day) is a sacred tradition in our family, and since my sister and I both had the day off, (and my little birdies will soon be fleeing my proverbial nest to get their own apartment) we molded custom butt crevices into the couch, donned our PJs and Snuggie slippers, and spent the day bringing justice to wife-killers, psychopathic stalkers and teenaged bullies.

The good people at Lifetime were kind enough to provide us with a superb lineup: "Total Stranger," "Rivals," and "Black Widower." We laughed, we cried, we threw empty pop bottles and crumpled bags of cheetos at the television.

These are the moments I have missed out on, not having lived in the same state as my sister for the past 5 years. And I have to say that it feels damn good to be able to do these things together again. My waistline is a little pissed, but I've nestled the perfect crator into my couch and I got to spend the perfect day with my sister.

HSM (Holy Shit Moment)

Occasionally, I have an HSM (Holy Shit Moment) when I realize that I'm almost 30. It's like I've been in a coma since high school and suddenly I have grey hair and wear mom jeans. This happened yesterday, when I saw that almost all of the "People You May Know" on facebook have small children in their photos, or bridal gowns on. It also happened when my car insurance went down at age 25, and again on Thursday when I realized I will have to change the name of this blog soon from "TwentySomething" to "Countdown to Hades".

When did we get to that age where everyone we know is married or has children? I don't know about you, but I still feel like I'm that 18-year-old college girl, planning which frat party we're going to hit on Thursday night. Only Thursday is a school night. I don't go out on school nights anymore. And now I'm smart enough to know that jungle juice is really just Koolaid powder and vodka.

The other day I looked in our freezer--it has been filled with almost full bottles of liquor since our summer BBQ. I thought about how when we were 18, we would drink absolutely anything we could get our hands on (such as half gallons of Popov and Crystal Palace, Busch's and Natural Light), and how my freezer would have never made it to be this full of unconsumed liquor back then. Both an empowering and depressing realization.

I also realized that (as corny as this sounds), I am responsible for three other tiny, furry lives now. I am a mommy. Mouths to feed and all that. I have to pay rent, pay taxes, pay my bar tab. Life isn't as carefree as it used to be, but it also isn't as acne-prone and awkward, and I wouldn't go back for anything.

So even when I have an HSM every now and again, realize I'm almost 30, start to slow panic and breathe into a paper bag, I remind myself that I would not want to be that 18-year-old again, with all of the growing pains and awkwardness that come along with it.

Top 5 Shows from the 90's - Oldies but Goodies

There is nothing that I love more than hearing that famous line from the man who never seems to age... "You are NOT the father." Chairs are scooted across the stage from each other, shoes are sometimes thrown, but Maury stays the same. In a chaotic world of hundreds of channels, I find myself going back to the shows that bring me so much joy: shows from the 90's. Here are 5 of my favorites:

1.) Maury.
Maury never seems to age. He does the same shows over and over again (Jenny Jones, anyone??) but somehow survives the tsunami that has been reality TV. As the old saying goes: "if it ain't broke, don't fix it." And that seems to be the case with our wrinkled old friend, the bearer of paternity results worldwide. There is comfort in repetition, and I always get a warm fuzzy feeling when I see "Your Twin Brother is the Father of Our Baby" on the guide channel.

2.) America's Funniest Home Videos.
Sure, I miss Bob Saget. He was corny, he made me cringe with every poorly written line, but he was Danny Tanner, and he had charisma. Tom Bergeron is like a comforting father figure, though, and he introduces the clips with the vigor that Bob never had. There's just something about the video montages that makes me pee my pants like no other show has EVER been able to do. Yesterday, my sister and I watched fifteen people take face plants off of diving boards and test out dog shock collars on their own necks, and I laughed straight through the commercial break.

Joey Greco: bettering mankind, one cheater at a time.

3.) Cheaters.
Joey Greco never goes out of style. He is a man scorned, exploiting the pain of cheating victims everywhere to better mankind. There's something about being inside that van, on the way to the cheater's house, seeing their blurred out private parts through the window in nightvision that warms the soul. It's good to know there's justice out there for people whose husbands are sleeping with the babysitter.

4.) Roseanne.
Roseanne never fails to make me feel connected to the midwest working man. Her down-to-earth ways, family troubles, and groundbreaking lesbian kisses have been a friend to my television for many years. We followed her through the ups and downs of marriage, two Beckys, David and Darlene, Dan's infidelity, then the winning of the lottery (which turned out to be a dream anyways, way to dissapoint us, writers), and she will forever remain a solid late-night fallback show to lull me to sleep.

5.) COPS.
The first REAL reality TV, COPS really is the pioneer of the Jersey Shore movement. Capturing the incriminating actions of criminals across America, COPS introduced a new level of television yet unmatched by current shows. The Dash Cam gave us an inside look into the police world: hilarious field sobriety epic fails, high speed chases, and jaw-dropping white trash fashion shows.

These are the shows that I am not ashamed to admit I turn back to, day after day, to keep me company and remind me that some people just should not breed.

Snowtastrophe

Our back deck, covered in snow

I remember sitting on the couch next to my sister, 6am, half ready for school (just in case), watching the scrollbar on the bottom of the news read off the names of the schools closed for snow. I'd clutch my bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, anxiously scooping the squares into my mouth so they wouldn't get mushy, eyes locked on the TV. When I saw Liv Public Schools pop up, (on the rare occasion it did; kids these days get snow days all the TIME it seems) I'd leap off the couch, smash my cereal bowl against the wall and cartwheel through the living room. (Okay, not so much with the bowl and the cartwheels, but you get my point.) And it turns out--snow days are just as exciting when you're a grown up.

I don't know where you live in the world, but if you're anywhere within a three-state radius of New York, you got pummeled with snow today. I woke up to a winter wonderland of epic proportions, snow falling at an amazing rate. Now I work from home, but I sat alongside my sister and boyfriend today watching those school closings with the same excitement I had back in middle school. (Minus the CTC--grown ups have to eat boring things like bran flakes and bananas. Yuck.) And when we saw the school district that my sister works in scroll up on the TV, we high fived like we had just won the lottery.

The snow has been falling all morning, and both my sister and K got snow days! And I don't know about you, but I just can't seem to fight the urge to put five hefty bags on over my clothes in lieu of a snowsuit and go roll around in the snow.

LYLAS

When you're in elementary school, you judge who your best friend is by who sits next to you on the bus and shares your snack pack. In middle school, it's who's mom's van you ride in to the dance. In high school, it's who you are in classes with, and who you party with on the weekends. In college, it's the friends you're lucky enough to have kept from high school, and the new friends you make through some serious life experiences with them, bonding over the great times you have at the frat parties and Saturday morning tailgates. And in the post-college years, your friendships are measured by who you'll choose for your bridal party.

Today is my best friend and college roommate Kristin's birthday. We live in different states now, but I'll never forget how we met going in blind as roommates in college, and the amazing friendship we developed. It made me think about the changing nature of friendships through your twenties.

Most girls that I know, whether in a relationship or not, have their bridal party stacked in the back of their minds. Through the years, girls move in and out of the circle, you lose touch and they move to the outer circles of friendship, or they surprise you and you become closer friends, moving back into the circle. It's not a race, or a competition. For me, it's simply tangible evidence of how your friendships change through the years.

I like to think that I've made peace with the path my friendships have taken. I've had some amazing friends who I am extremely close with, and am lucky enough to still remain close with. I've had some great friendships that, after college, jobs, moving, etc., we have lost touch a bit. But there is a mutual understanding there: we will always be in each other's hearts, even if we don't talk on a regular basis. This is exemplified by random, nostalgic facebook postings of "Hey, remember that time we stopped at that party on Beal Street at 3am, and you woke up sleeping in the lobby of our dorm?" There are friends I've made in my adult life, some of whom I have become closely bonded with--people who I tell everything to, share things that are going on in my life, and there are friends who have grown distant through time; we've fallen out of touch for one reason or another.

I've found that the friendships that I've been able to remain close with have been maintained with minimal effort. Those people have organically come into my life and stayed there, they've become my family. I can picture five, ten years down the road, all of us married with kids, taking vacations together, merging our families as we get older. These are the relationships I can't ever see myself letting go of. And sometimes there are the friendships that challenge us, maybe hurt us, and don't come as easily as others. You fall in and out of touch with these people, but your friendships with them teach you a lot about your character, integrity, and who you are as a person.

I feel incredibly lucky to have the people in my life that I do. All of you hold a special place in my heart, and always will. And I think no matter what happens in the coming years, each person is put into your life for a reason, whether that reason is immediately clear or not. And I feel honored to have had so many amazing people in mine.

Dirty Xbox Hooker

This weekend, I did the unthinkable. I joined in a twisted threesome with K and his skankalicious mistress, Call of Duty. It felt wrong from the start, but after an hour of running into walls, getting shot repeatedly and clogging doorways with my clumsy inertia, I'm sad to admit that I actually got hooked on it.

I know, girls. I swore I'd never join in on this sort of lunacy. Call of Duty is a life ruiner. An Xbox hooker of the worst kind. But once you get that controller in your hands and you've actually played long enough to shoot a player or two, she sings her siren song, lures you to her lair, then turns you to stone like a modern day Medusa.

The real kicker is the feedback you receive over the headset from the other players who have shot you in the back, blown you up with grenades, and stabbed you with knives. It's what draws you in, keeps you in the game. The incessant harassing, sarcastic jabs and verbal abuse is just impossible to resist.

So maybe next time instead of initiating a verbal beatdown on my boyfriend for immersing himself in the world of his infidelity, I'll join in. Because nothing feels better than looking that hooker in the eye, hiding behind some sandbags and sniping out random strangers from three countries over.

Cabs Are HERE!

My DVR is close to 90% full. MOSTLY by 93 episodes of Robot Chicken and Monster Garage, (and I'm not naming names), but I have about 15 different series of my own set to record. Tis the season to be premiering, and I'll tell you what--I don't know what it is about these ridiculous shows and their fist-pumping, teen-momming ways, but I. Am. In. LOVE.

Jersey Shore premiered last night, Teen Mom 2 starts soon, and winter Wipeout is on, which makes me pee my pants. All of my favorites, and I feel like a toddler on Christmas morning. The Reality TV Santa is here with a sack full of trashy presents.

I'm convinced that TV is the ultimate family unifier. My sister and her boyfriend are living with us right now, and I think I can speak for all of us when I say that our favorite nights are the ones we have good TV on. We all gather on the couch with our pizza and beer and fist pump our faces off. Yesterday, my sister's boyfriend J and I ran around high-fiving each other, yelling: "CABS ARE HEEEEERE!" Best. Day. Ever.

There doesn't seem to be much going on socially during these winter months, (I like to call this "hibernation season," when people couple up and stay indoors for the first three months out of the year) so reality TV gives us something to look forward to and bond over. And I for one can't WAIT for the next round of pregnant teens to yell, scream and entertain me. Dance, puppets... dance.

Sinners

We are living in sin. It's true, we are sinners. On the plane to Michigan, I turned to K and asked: "whoooo's ready to play another game of we don't live togetherrrr!" We both laughed, then pored over every page of the SkyMiles magazine, picking out gifts for friends and family. My step grandmother doesn't know we live together. And she is a wonderful woman, but very strict in her beliefs. So we try to avoid giving her a heart attack at the ripe old age of seventy-four and keep the news to ourselves.

I have friends who are married, engaged, divorced, single, living with their significant others. I have friends who have kids, I have friends who never want kids, and I have friends who are trying for kids. I have friends who took jobs halfway around the world and get to travel to amazing exotic places, I have friends who are doctors, lawyers, work with celebrities, and I have friends who live in beautiful small towns with their boyfriends and three cats and write about them all. Oh wait, that's me.

Being in your twenties is incredibly unique. Everyone you know is at a different station in life, we've all had different life experiences that brought us to this point. And though we're all close to the same age, we're all going through different things.

I think it's natural to look around you and think, wow, I wish I had that. Or: damn, I REALLY don't want THAT. You compare yourself to the people around you, and because others do the same they expect certain things from you. They expect you to couple up, get married, have kids, and do everything the way that everybody else is doing them. But the truth is, who is everybody else? Not one person that I know has the same story as anybody else. I think we all WANT similar things, but the paths we choose are all very different.

Why is it that I always seem to find myself somewhere in between? I'm not married, I don't have kids. We want kids... someday. And we want to get married, before that. I think that's the "ideal" way to do it, right? But I know people who wind up having kids before they are married, and they turn out just fine. And the truth is that I'm honestly the happiest I've ever been, right here in the middle. With a wonderful man, not yet married, without kids. We want to do things like plan vacations together, travel, spend time with each other's families... we want to appreciate having this time to do what we would like without kids, just yet. And maybe that's okay. Maybe the whole point is creating your own path in life, learning from other people's experiences but doing what is right for you. And if we have to play a couple more rounds of "We Don't Live Together," then that's just fine with me.

First Day at Cosmo

I still, to this day, have never been as nervous in my life as I was on my first day working at Cosmo. Here I was, a midwestern girl with no fashion sense, working at one of the biggest magazines in the world. I don't know what I expected, really. I think I blacked out for the elevator ride up, so anxious I could die. I clutched my fake Prada bag (from a purse party, what what!) close to my side, suddenly realizing I was in the company of ladies who could sniff out my imposter. There was no time to fret, though, as the elevator doors opened to the front desk of the Cosmopolitan office.

It was like a fashion paradise. Girls in five-inch heels and designer summer dresses flitted through the lobby toting racks full of clothes I had only seen in, well, magazines. Hair perfectly done, bodies perfectly toned, I suddenly wondered what I was doing here.

I swallowed my fear and approached the girl behind the desk, telling her I was here to meet with Annie, it was my first day as an intern. She smiled pityingly and directed me to where Annie's cubicle was. She was a short, pretty Asian girl with perfect hair and an even more perfect wardrobe. She gave me the once over and began barking directions. I suddenly realized where the confusion from me even getting the job in the first place stemmed from; Annie was a ball of energy, all over the place, all the time. She pointed out the cubicle I would be sharing with my fellow interns, Jackie and Lindsey. I was thrilled to discover that despite my preconceived (and completely erroneous) imaginings about these girls, that they were INCREDIBLY sweet and very helpful. I couldn't believe my luck in being put to work with them, they made my summer SO much better.

A few hours into the day, we heard a loud CRASH then a blood curdling scream coming from near the water cooler. A girl dashed out of the room, Gucci shoes in hand, looking like she had just been through a tsunami. The water cooler lay tipped over on the ground, tears ran down her face, and girls gathered in a circle around her. "Oh my gosh! Are you okay??" Annie asked the clearly distraught girl. "Yes, I THINK so, but my vintage Guccis got all wet!" Gasps were audible through the crowd, as bystanders approached to assess the damage. I stood near the back, and a chuckle escaped my lips. A few heads turned toward me, laser beams shooting out of their eyes. I immediately pinched my lips together and forced a concerned expression, realizing quickly that the girl was not, in fact, kidding about being upset over the shoes. And in that instant, I also realized that my whole sarcastic world would be turned upside down in this strange reality that was Cosmo.

It's a strange feeling, when your dreams become reality. Like everything you ever wanted is being handed to you. It's like growing up all of your life with pictures of what the Disney Castle looks like, and then standing as a small girl staring up at it in wonderment. You realize that anything is possible, and that (some of) your expectations were far off from what you actually begin to experience, as the people around you are humanized. These girls were real, this job was real, and the people behind putting this larger-than-life publication together... were real.

Cosmo Days: First Trip to the City

Note: I figured I would get in my time machine and write a few posts about my days at Cosmo, just for kicks. I'll return to posting about K and the kitties soon! Enjoy :)

The weeks in between getting the job at Cosmo and the actual move are a total blur. I had to move out of my apartment at MSU, came home for maybe a week, then jumped in the car with my mom and stepdad to venture out to New York to my aunt and uncle's house, who so graciously agreed to let me stay with them while I worked in the city.

I remember bits and pieces of the ride out here. I remember listening to Alanis Morrisette and Mariah Carey on my iPod (don't judge!), trying not to think about how scared I was, and how sad I was to leave home. I am a big fat scaredy cat, contrary to how it might seem from this adventurous story, and I was TERRIFIED. I was also so excited I thought I might die. Who gets their dream job and moves to New York in a month??

My first trip down to the city was breathtaking. My uncle took the entire day off so we could map out my train ride and which subway routes I'd take to work every day. I worked at 57th and 7th; (which meant nothing to me at the time; now I excitedly point to the TV every time they show the Hearst Tower.) We walked around Central Park, and I still couldn't believe my eyes that I was actually in New York City. I mean, we had been down for trips when I was younger, but it was nothing like being thrown in with both feet and working down there ALONE.

On my first day, I woke up at 3:30am to catch the 4:15am train (my uncle would drop me off each day before he had to go to work.) I made sure to get a window seat; I wanted to see the Hudson on the ride down. I listened to my iPod and tried not to throw up from nervousness. The train took 1 hour and 41 minutes; and pulled into Grand Central Station. I was still SUPER early, but I had no idea where I was going and I was afraid to look stupid. So I took the S train, then the N train and finally got off on the corner right across from Carnagie Hall.

When I walked up those stairs onto the streets of New York, I was so overwhelmed I couldn't breathe. The woosh of hot air from the subway below met the cool summer air, and I was caught in a tornado of warmth. It matched my emotions. I didn't start for a few more hours, so I decided to get some coffee and breakfast since I had been up so early. I sat in that coffee shop, staring out the window watching people walk by for several hours. It was one of the most memorable experiences of my life. I felt so incredibly out of place, yet somehow I belonged there. I still couldn't believe it. I wasn't sure whether I would pass out or throw up from the excitement; I have still to this day never been as nervous as I was that day. And when I stood up to smooth my skirt and walk next door to my first day at Cosmo, I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest.

Me? A Cosmo Girl?

In the spring of 2006, near the end of my senior year of college, I applied for an internship that I never thought I'd get. I came across the post on CreativeHotlist.com (an awesome source for creative jobs, my fellow designers) for an art intern at Cosmopolitan Magazine. At first I passed over it, thinking it was completely out of my league. When I came across it a second time, I had a "what the hell" moment (I'm convinced these are the best moments of your life, by the way) and I applied. I heard back from Annie a few weeks later for a phone interview, and she let me know that they would contact me. Months went by. I enjoyed the last frat parties and bar crawls of my senior year, and dove into working full-time at my other internship at an agency in Detroit.

I read the book "The Devil Wears Prada," and it reminded me that I had never heard from Annie. Dejected, I figured I hadn't gotten the job, but in a brave (maybe stupid) moment, I called her and left an awkward and erratic message to gain some closure that sounded something like this:

Hey Annie, we spoke a few weeks ago regarding the internship in the art department, and I am assuming you filled the position, but I just wanted to call to make sure. Thank you for your time.

I would never hear back from her. It had been months, and I was sure with her busy fancy job that she wouldn't bother to even let me know the position had been filled. My current internship drew very near its close, and I wondered what the hell I was going to do about finding a job.

My phone rang a few hours later, it was a 212 number. My heart dropped. Could it be? Hands shaking, I picked up the phone in my most professional-sounding, non-moronic voice. "Hi S, it's Annie from Cosmo. I just got your message, and wanted to give you a call back. You'll start in the beginning of May, do you have housing arrangements?" I stuttered for a moment, trying to process all that was occurring. Though I didn't want to sound like an idiot, I backed her up a bit. "Wait... did I... get the job?" I asked her, cringing at the sound of my own voice. "Um.. yes! Didn't we talk about that a few weeks ago?" OMG! I HAD GOTTEN THE JOB. IN NEW YORK CITY! It's every girl's dream. I was going to be working at one of the biggest fashion magazines in the world. I couldn't BELIEVE IT! I tried to calm myself down so I could answer her question without making her feel like a dope. "Wow! No, actually, I didn't know I had gotten it. I believe I can make arrangements; let me make a few calls and find out." "Okay, great," she said, sounding nonchalant. We ended the call, and I nearly dropped the phone. I couldn't believe it--I had gotten the job of my dreams. Now, to figure out how to move to New York and survive in the big city (and in the world of Cosmo) with my poor fashion sense and lack of experience...

Facebook Jerk

Okay, listen. I realize my view on the politics of facebook are conflicting. I regularly scroll through my list of friends and do a little house cleaning, deleting people that I don't talk to much. It's really nothing personal. Sometimes you just lose touch and don't talk, realize that you probably never will, so you click that X and defriend with reckless abandon. You think: we knew each other from one week at fat camp the summer after fifth grade; she will never notice, and will she really even miss me since we never talk?

The worst case scenario when you defriend someone is that you pop up in their "People You May Know" box, they realize you have done the deed, and then they REFRIEND you. What are you supposed to do at that point? You've been found out, and though you hoped it would never come to this and they would not discover your infidelity, they have. So you have two options: accept the friend request (again), or deny it and forever wear that scarlet F on your shirt... for Facebook jerk.

But today... the most devastating event occurred. Someone defriended ME. I know this because I keep close tabs on the number of friends I have on FB: 245. I like to keep it at a nice round number, sets of five are preferable. And when I clicked on my page today, it was immediately clear that my facebook chi was off. 244. I had been defriended. And as much as I defriend unabashedly and unapologetically, I was furious. Who wouldn't want to be friends with me? Why would someone deliberately disconnect from my life in such a way? How DARE THEY?

I scrolled fervently through my friend list, trying to figure out who it was. Not that there is ANY way to tell (unless you regularly stalk that person and one day can't see the photos of their new chubby little baby... not that that's happened to me or anything.) When I resolved that I was never going to be able to tell who it was that burned me to the core, I decided that I want my friends list back to a nice, round number. So I'll either have to make a new friend, or defriend four other people. What to do, what to do.