Then why should true love be so complicated?

Face it. We all have missed opportunities, those pesky little moments in which we had done or said something unique to the time at hand. How about waiting to make a turn and realizing just a little too late that your car could've made it? Or, maybe how about the time you thought of a great, witty comeback 20 minutes too late?

That's it. The moment is gone. For all you know, that exact situation may never again present itself. I mean, I'm sure - at some point - you'll make another right turn into traffic with perfect timing. But what if you wanted to tell someone something, and you just never get that chance?

You may spend a great deal of time feeling like you're running after a train that doesn't have another trip scheduled.



When I was in high school, one of my very favorite movies was MY BEST FRIEND'S WEDDING. In case you're completely behind and haven't seen this movie, Julianne realizes, too many years too late, that she is absolutely in love with her best friend Michael. Days before his wedding to another girl, Julianne finds herself struggling with the idea of telling Michael how she feels while - in the process - trying to break up a happy union. In one particular scene, Julianne and Michael discuss the idea of telling a person you love him at the exact time you feel/think/know it. Otherwise, as they say, the moment just passes you by.

Unfortunately, not enough people take advantage of this way of thinking, and they're often left wondering "what could have been."

So, when I was in high school, I decided I had to be brave, for once. Not long before graduation, I was spurred by the death of a classmate. I told myself it was time to speak up or miss the chance forever. I spent quite a bit of time writing the perfect letter to a longtime friend. It was frightening then and even still as I think about it now. My frame of mind was this: the person you argue with tonight may not be here tomorrow, or the friend you think of as more than a friend might not ever know. In high school, these things are quite a big deal. Unrequited love seems equal to a chronic pain or a tragic loss. The best way to heal the wound or maybe just dull the ache is to reveal yourself... all fears pushed aside.

Believe it or not, I didn't just write the letter and hide it in some drawer. I handed it off and spent the following week hoping for eye contact that didn't come for probably a good two weeks. Go figure, he didn't know what to say to me. In the letter, I made it very clear that I wasn't looking for the same in return. I actually wasn't looking for anything other than the self-satisfaction in knowing that I didn't let something go unsaid. There was a freedom in putting myself and my feelings on the line, and I was also aware of the fact that confessing such things may put the friendship on the line as well.

Eventually, he came around, and, in time, it was as if that very sincere, very honest letter was never even shared.

But it's not that easy; I realize this. There may be someone you see every day or not nearly often enough. You might not know him or her, or it could be someone you speak to on occasion. When does it become time to bite the bullet and say exactly what's on your mind?

Because, before you know it, he may never come around again, and you're stuck with a mind full of thoughts and feelings that you never shared.

Shall this be a New Year's Resolution?
Tell that person you've had a mad crush for years...

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

"Tell him that you're never gonna leave him. Tell him that you're always gonna love him. Tell him, tell him, tell him. Tell him right now."


P.S. How funny is this video?

You're so ambitious for a juvenile.

Okay, so I'm not promising that this will be my only "year-end" blog entry. I've got 16 more days to formulate other END OF 2010 thoughts. However, for now, I bring you my current state of mind.

I recently had that chance to spend a day with a friend of mine that I hadn't seen in about seven years. We had a great time catching up and talking as if we had seen each other a lot more over the course of the many days that passed. Thanks to the internet, we've kept in touch - sometimes more frequently than others - by chatting over IM or writing nonsense back and forth on Twitter. We've mailed mix CDs from state to state and started new conversations without having ended one that was previously in play.

I first met him eight years ago.

So much has changed for both of us... from the time we first became friends to the 2003 New Years visit... and certainly in the years that we've been primarily communicating through computer technology.

Think about all the people that you've known in the last eight years or so. Imagine just how much those people and their circumstances have been rearranged. Where were you eight years ago?



Me? Well, I was a freshman at the University of Miami, complaining pretty much every day. I hated a lot about my situation at the time, and I was desperate to leave the school. There are a handful of memories and people I hold onto from that experience, and somehow I transferred schools, moved a few times, and ended up here.

What if every path had been slightly altered? What if I stayed in Miami? What if I went to Boston in the first place? What if I didn't meet any of the people I know as good friends today?

On an even bigger scale, people I met in 7th grade are engaged. People I met in 9th grade are married. Others have babies on the way or are already parents. A lot of those that I pictured to be married and completely settled down have not done so. Hell, my own imaginary plans for myself flew out the window a long time ago. Piece by piece they disappeared and bit by bit - what was left - changed.

A number of "what ifs" may cross our minds often. We wonder why things have happened to us or the people we love. We try to figure on how we could've changed our own luck. Or, we may even wonder how we became so blessed and ended up with the good fortune others don't have.

And in the last year... What has completely altered the course of everything? Umm... I turned 26 and celebrated it with three of my closest friends - two of whom had surgery a few days prior. I chugged Pepto Bismal on the Maelstrom ride in Epcot. I was diagnosed with mono and was then out of work for three months. I celebrated my brother's marriage to my new sister-in-law. I met President Obama. I saw Pee-Wee Herman perform on Broadway. I ate a lot of food from The Cheesecake Factory, and I started baking all sorts of desserts. I read the Harry Potter series.

Most importantly, I vowed to get myself published by age 30. I'll turn 27 next month.

So, check back with me in a couple years. :-)

"Where's the fire? What's the hurry about? You better cool it off before you burn it out."

You give love a bad name.

WARNING: If you have not seen the movie Love and Other Drugs (and you plan to), this blog entry may contain plot spoilers. You're welcome.

I have a strong sense of reality. I don't believe in ghosts, and I am nearly certain there isn't a being above that determines our every day. For a long time, I refused to read such things as Twilight and Harry Potter, claiming that my brain just didn't work that way; I couldn't remove myself from the real world long enough to conceive of an entirely fictional world consisting of magic, vampires, or Dark Lords. When I saw the movie Enchanted, I felt physical pain and embarrassment for the characters played by Amy Adams and James Marsden. Somehow, I couldn't put myself in this fairytale land that magically invaded New York City.

I'm not really sure what all this says about me as a person, but what I do know is this - fantasy lands tend to irritate me.



Currently, I happen to be going in and out of one of my "woe is me" moments, and I can't help but feeling somewhat lonely and sorry for myself and my situation. This started a little while before Thanksgiving. Truly, I don't begrudge any of my friends their happiness, but I'm finding myself wishing I could share in it. Join in group outings without feeling like a fifth wheel. Have a regular companion... blah blah... wah wah...

Maybe I shouldn't have gone to see a typical Hollywood romantic comedy (or "emotional comedy," as they are calling this movie) in this mood. But, honestly, I can't pass up a good Jake Gyllenhaal opportunity (unless of course it's Prince of Persia, and he has a dumb accent). His appearance in this particular movie is truly the subject of it's own blog entry. See the movie, and you'll understand.



For the most part, I really appreciated the relationship on screen this time. It isn't perfect. There are flaws in the relationship as well as the people involved. The conversations seem honest and real - as if I were actually watching two people intent on avoiding anything serious. Both people have baggage, histories of loving and losing or not really loving at all. For the first two-thirds of the movie, I was thinking, "I really like this movie... Must buy it on DVD."

But before I could map out immediate plans to see the movie a second time, Hollywood stepped in, and the traditional, predictable elements of chick flicks ruined a perfectly good movie-going experience (but let's also blame the slightly blurred picture, damn Rave Motion Pictures).

It's possible I don't believe in the classic Happy Ending because I have yet to find that Prince Charming, but I do believe in the ever present threat of REAL life. People like Jake's character just don't exist. They don't. I'm sorry. Guys that look like him and are successful like him don't drive miles just to catch the girl with the issues and promise to take care of her, save her, LOVE her. Yes, I'm being cynical, and I am far from the optimist with rose-colored glasses. I'm just trying to explain how things actually go.

Guys like that don't exist. And, if they do, as I said last night, they're dating Taylor Swift... This is the very PG version of what I actually said upon leaving the movie last night.

Perhaps I should take to watching more movies like The Wrestler - down on his luck guy tries and remains, well, down on his luck. I'm really bothered by this ideal life of perfection when the White Knight saves the girl or where two imperfect people can make love triumph over all.

Plain and simple... It just doesn't happen.

"You promise me heaven then put me through hell."

I don't know how you keep on giving.

Today is an American day of giving thanks (it is also celebrated in Canada... though the holiday is slightly different). Together, we celebrate being thankful for a "plentiful harvest," as Wikipedia tells me. Traditionally, people also make a habit of listing those things in their lives for which they are grateful.

When I woke up today... actually last night... I started thinking about writing an entirely different blog. The subject matter was one that focused on a topic of loneliness and envy. Due to the holiday, I will spare you, and bring you an entry sponsored by happiness and positive thoughts.

I give you my list of things and people that make me happy every day. In case I don't say it enough, this little note will serve as my eternal Thank You.

My Friends
To the special few of you that make every day funnier and sunnier. A few times now, I have blogged about the importance of having good friends in your life. I consider myself extremely lucky to know that I have more than just a couple close friends. While I communicate with some on a daily basis and others not quite as frequently, they have all been there for me to share lots of laughs and (unfortunately) some tears as well. Ari, Nicole, Jayme, Jill, Laurie, Eric, & Dory. I count you among the people in my world that know just what to say when I need to laugh - whether you know it or not (Jill) - and can be there to laugh at me when I say something completely ridiculous (Dory). For Ari and Nicole who can understand the words I mean when I'm fairly certain I haven't even spoken proper English. To Laurie who is a source of inspirational words and thoughts when I don't know where else to look. And for amazing friends that can be found in the most unexpected places (Jayme & Eric).

My Family
Mom and Dad who have been nice enough to let me camp out in the house all this time and have supported my smart decisions and even some of my not so smart ones. :-) To Jared and Michelle out west - far in miles but not in my heart.

I could go on and list all of the music I couldn't live without and the extended family I have gained in also gaining a sister-in-law. I'm thankful that the teddy bear a friend gave me when I turned 12 is still in one piece and has traveled with me through every move. I'm thankful that I don't fall over the mess in my room when I have to get up in the middle of the night.

There's also the really little things like... umm... candy corn, rainbow cookies, apple pie, and Harry Potter. Also Graceland, because I know I'll get there one day. Disney memories, musical theater, and "Gilmore Girls."

And I couldn't forget you, the very special people (no matter who few you may be) that read my silly little stories and help me with feedback, leading me to believe that maybe just one day - hopefully before I'm 30 - I will find my book on the shelves. Then I'll be even more thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving.

"I want to thank you for so many gifts you gave with all the tenderness."

See the man with the lonely eyes, take his hand you'll be surprised.

Random acts of kindness.

When I was in high school, there was an after school club devoted to being kind, randomly, in the form of different acts. I'm pretty sure the club didn't last very long. To me, it seems kind of silly to create a group for the purpose of doing something people should be doing in their daily lives. Do you need others to tell you how to be nice to people? Do you have to be part of a collective in order to spontaneously pay attention to passers-by?

Unfortunately, most people are not genuinely just - well - kind to others. It takes effort for some to smile and say a simple thank you. Trust me, I know. I work in the food business. Although we all tend to express when a customer is a pain in the ass and horribly rude, it's almost more shocking when someone is nice, expresses appreciation, or leaves a generous tip. This morning, one of my servers (and friends) said to me that everyone was being so great. Customers were actually pleasant. Isn't it a shame to think that we're not expecting it?

For the last week, I have been unsuccessfully searching for a box of Nerds. You'd think with Halloween candy out that I'd be able to find one of those boxes - with the split openings - of grape and strawberry crunchy delights. No luck. Target. Shop Rite. Wegmans. NOTHING! Do you know how happy it made me when someone brought me two tiny boxes of Wonka Nerds yesterday? Simply put, it made my day, and it made me smile. It doesn't take a lot of money or a lot of power. It just takes a little bit of thought and a whole lot of heart. Who knew little candies could make someone's day...

One of my good friends sort of possesses the spirit of being kind to people. She goes out of her way to make someone feel happy or beautiful. It could be a little note she gives the Dunkin Donuts cashier or a one line text message she sends to a friend. She works so hard at making others happy, absolutely convinced that a smile on someone else's face can put one on her own. She's determined to make her first million for someone else, someone that needs it more than she does. It's people like her that send you a book in the mail for no reason or show up to visit you at work when you've had a long day.

Why is it so rare and difficult to find the ones that know making other people happy can make you just as happy in return? As we get into the holiday season, I'm taking this moment to say that I'm thankful for the people in my life - whether it's been for days, years, or even minutes - that have brightened my day and given me inspiration to pay it forward to others.

"So send a smile; we're on our way back home."

Never knowing if there's solid ground below.

Dear Ryan Murphy,

Hey. Let me introduce myself.

I am a fan. Okay, I am a "Gleek," as the group of us has been called... I'm pretty sure you're behind that lovely nickname. I currently own every musical recording from the show; I'm anxiously awaiting the Karaoke Revolution game for the wii, and I did run to Macy's to check out the apparel (I didn't buy any... it was all sort of lame). Currently in my DVD player is one of the season one discs. Got it? I love your show.

Once upon a time, you created my all-time favorite television show. No, not "Nip/Tuck." I've never even seen an episode of that. A little too bizarro for me. Back when I was in high school, there was this two-season show that was sort of struggling in obscurity. When I mention it today, only a few people even know what I'm talking about. "Popular" was one of the best shows I have ever seen on television.



The characters were eccentric, and the actors were - for the most part - fresh faces the audience had never seen before. To this day, I still quote scenes with the fabulous Mary Cherry, and I remember guest appearances by people like Delta Burke and Anne Margaret. I used to call it an "Ally McBeal" for teens, but it had a little more quirk. I don't believe "Ally McBeal" ever pushed the envelope with characters like Dr. Bobby Glass, whose gender was questionable (sounds an awful lot like new football coach Beist), or the cross-dressing teacher that drew support from an entire group of students. Hey, who can forget April Tuna? I remember being told I resembled one of the show's leads, Carly Pope, and that always made me happy.

Though the show only lasted two seasons, and viewers were left with a cliffhanger, with the way things have been going so far this season on "Glee," I'm starting to think my memories of the short-lived "Popular" are best just the way they are.



Ryan, what happened? Have you gotten too big for your britches? Suddenly, Sue's one-liners are no longer shocking and hilarious. They now verge on disgusting and inappropriate. You took Mr. Schue (props on casting Matt Morrison, btw) from a fun-loving, dedicated teacher to an entirely creepy pseudo role model that has become far too involved in his students' lives. And what happened to the hilarity of Ken Tanaka or Sandy Ryerson, the previous glee club leader (also, very clever, because the actor Steven Tobolowsky also played Ned RYERSON in Groundhog Day... nice touch)? And then you just make the extra football kid, Matt, disappear? Come on...

Most upsetting at the moment, you cannot be without Puck for two episodes! I don't care if he's pissing you off because he's got a music career. He's a series regular, and the stories are better with him.

Recently, I went back and watched a few of the earlier episodes, before the spotlight exploded and your actors were on the cover of GQ. There was something more interesting about those shows. The musical numbers were better, and - in true musical fashion - their significance in the storyline helped to further the plot. Suddenly, this season has become a pageant of sorts where the contestants perform their individual numbers with the hopes of... what? Hmm... I'm not quite sure. I miss the exposition of Will and Terri's relationship. I miss learning about Finn and his family and just how Kurt fits in. And, I hoped at some point, you could introduce us to Rachel's dads, whom obviously have a huge role in the character that Lea Michele has developed.

I mean, I do love a musical on TV. Hell, I would've watched "Viva Laughlin" if it stayed on the air. I do realize we're still early on in season two, and there's a good chance it's going to air just like last season - with a huge break in the middle. I'm anticipating Carol Burnett's guest spot, and I'm hoping for far more of Cheyenne Jackson. But what I'd really like to see - more than any big names that can attract ratings - are REAL, functioning stories that bring us back to the heart of the show. The outcast doesn't just have to be the heavyset girl or the guy that listens to showtunes. Somewhere, each of us can relate to Quinn or Artie. I want a great, showstopping number that revolves around the story, not the week's tribute artist. And, like my friend and fellow viewer says, how can New Directions be ready for nationals when they haven't even developed solid group numbers? I have a bigger question: how can the group even be GOING to nationals in NY when they didn't qualify or place at regionals? Because, Ryan, you've majorly neglected that part of the story.

Earlier today, I was looking up the phrase "jumping the shark." Most TV viewers know that this is a phrase used to describe some ridiculous ratings ploy that ultimately - when critics and audiences look back - turns out to be the downturn of the program. The term was coined from an episode of "Happy Days" when Fonzie and the crew were visiting Hollywood, and while waterskiing, Fonzie jumped over a shark. You could also liken this to when Ross and Rachel had a baby on "Friends." It's just never the same afterwards.

I wonder, Ryan, if you can't reel it in, what will the critics say was your moment jumping the shark? Was is casting Uncle Jesse as a singing dentist? Was is the mess of a Rocky Horror episode? Or will it be something else that happens five years down the line when the show just can't hack it anymore?

I hope.

Sincerely,
Emily

"What do ya say to taking chances? What do ya say to jumping off the edge?"

You need to hear me out, and they said "speak now."

A while ago, I blogged about some of my sources of inspiration... at least when it comes to my writing. To be completely honest, it's been some time since I sat down to work on this supposed novel I've been trying to write. I found myself needing a new source of motivation, something fresh to spur the flow of words. Maybe since finishing the Harry Potter books, I've felt sort of down on my own feelings about typing out dialogue and description. Because no one will ever be J.K. Rowling, it was a bit of a depressing moment to complete the series and then watch her Oprah interview (note - my fellow HP fan friends warned me about post-Harry depression). While I find no one in the word as captivating and encouraging as Rowling, I just wasn't able to find my own words.

Until now.

I have repeatedly complained about Taylor Swift's inability to sing well live and her awkward performing skills. But when it comes down to it, I am a HUGE fan. For my generation (and a few younger), there have been very few songwriters that can connect as well with an audience. Her ability to speak to an audience and receive such a positive response is impressive. Her bubbly personality and open honesty are contagious.

I watched the days on my calendar... waiting and waiting for October 25th to arrive. The release of Taylor's album "Speak Now."

I was already completely stuck on the album's first single "Mine," but I refused to listen to any other tracks supposedly detailing relationships with Taylor Lautner, John Mayer, and Joe Jonas. I wanted and needed to hear the album in its entirety. Multiple times. Currently I am on my sixth time through. I am a song repeater, and I will do it until I learn the words.



More importantly, I was waiting for this album because there is something about listening to Taylor that makes me want to write. It's almost like an uncontrollable itch. I can be lying in bed, flipping through a magazine with her music playing in the background, and instantly I need to open my word document. Though none of her songs have hit me quite like her first single, "Tim McGraw," this particular album includes a candid letter to listeners.

The Prologue, as Taylor titled it, expresses the importance to say what you have to say - without fear of humiliation or regret. You could be speaking to yourself in the mirror, confessing to a crush in a big crowd, or simply typing on the keyboard into a story the world will read. While reading this letter, I'm sure I felt like so many of the 15 year-old girls that ran out to Target or Best Buy yesterday just to purchase a copy of "Speak Now." Being someone that wants to write, it was nearly impossible to read the short note and not think she was speaking to me.

And, yesterday, when I finished my first play through the whole album, I added a few pages to the story I'm working on.



I realize this probably sounds entirely corny to anyone reading it. And the fact that I find a lanky 20 year-old girl an inspiration might seem silly. But, think about it, she has so much that so many would die for, and she has the chance to stand up and open her heart and her mouth, letting the world hear her story. And she's entirely luckier than a lot of us.

So don't be surprised when I dedicate my first novel to her. Yes, I'm one of millions that listens to her non-stop, but I might just be the ONE that publishes a novel completely and entirely motivated by one of her singles.

"There's the silence. There's my last chance."

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So I'm gonna give all my secrets away.

Last night, over a fro-yo date with my friend (and blogging buddy) Eric I got the idea for this blog. After being inspired by the yogurt place's brilliant napkins,



we started talking about my longtime customer crush. I mentioned to Eric how one of my employees said, "Most guys you'll meet will have a past. You just happen to know his already."

True.

100% true... But, isn't it somewhat disturbing to have seen the parade of breakfast partners over the last few years? Sunday morning meal. Saturday night clothes. See, this customer became a regular back when I was waiting tables. I got to know him and his then girlfriend as a very nice couple that never strayed from their safe meals of nova and kippered salmon. They often came in for breakfast after a bike ride and usually shared the newspaper, barely speaking and passing different sections back and forth. This was about 5 years ago. Eventually, the nice girlfriend was gone, and, in her place, seemed to be a parade of different ladies - most not nearly as nice or as nice looking as the girlfriend. Suddenly, I realized I was learning far more about him than I probably should have known.

In talking about men with a past, Eric brought up an interesting point. There should be some sort of Emotional Background Check. Forget running numbers on his credit, scanning the fingers for a ring, or determining his employment status. This is more important.



Think about the items you'd put on your Emotional Background Check.

1. Number of previous relationships.
2. Number of previous partners.
3. Longest relationship.
4. Capability of e-mailing/calling/texting.
5. Ability to remember birthdays/anniversaries/holidays.
6. Drinking/smoking/drug habits.
7. Last time tears were shed.
8. Ability to communicate with parents - his/hers or the partner's.
9. Skills of accepting others, unconditionally.
10. Chances of getting married.

Maybe your list is longer or shorter. Maybe none of these things are important. But don't you agree some things might be easier up front? Some of these things are exposed over time, and it's possible that other details never reach the surface. There's a good chance if you learn some details, it could very well be too late. You're already in, too invested to back out or to prevent heartbreak.

It's likely he'll always pay and open doors. He may even pull out chairs and help you with your coat. Don't get me wrong, chivalry is (and always will be) appreciated. But if you don't know that he's able to be something more than a gentleman in appearance, why continue a charade? Eventually, facades fade, and you're left with the person you would never have been interested in to begin with.

"Got no reason, got no shame. Got no family I can blame."

I've got a crush on you.

Sixteen Candles is one of the best movies. Ever. The John Hughes classic focuses on high schooler (what else?) Samantha Baker and her unfailing admiration for crush-worthy Jake Ryan. After her family forgets her birthday, Samantha begins that tormented teenage moment of self-pity and wallowing. We've all been there, right?



There's one moment from this movie that always sticks out for me. No, it's not when foreign exchange student Long Duck Dong gets misplaced. It's also not when The Geek charges fellow freshmen for a peek at Sam's underwear. There's a discussion Samantha shares with her dad. In his older, parental wisdom, Mr. Baker tells Sam, "That's why they call them crushes. If they were easy, they'd call 'em something else."

Now, if you've seen this movie (a million times, like I have), you know how it ends. In some dramatic twist of John Hughes fate, the high school romance is realized, and our over-the-top Molly Ringwald heroine gets the guy. Hmm... How many of your crushes have gone this way? None? Join the club.



Last week, I saw recent photos of an old high school crush. Once upon time - in 1998/1999 - I was a high school freshman, and this guy was a senior. I remember seeing him every day, before sixth period, in third floor C-wing. Back then, he had very red hair, was average height, and occasionally wore glasses. I have a weakness for the glasses. He was also a customer in my parents' then restaurant. I was a complete nerd over him, and yet I never even spoke to him. Not one word. My best friend knew him, and used to tell me what a huge jerk he was. Eh, when it's a crush you'll never get, you don't have to worry about these things. So when I saw these new photos of him (thanks for Facebook stalking), I was surprised to find he grew possibly a foot in height, and his once very red hair had browned and grown out. He was still wearing the glasses. I said to my best friend, "Old habits die hard. Yeah, he's still hot." Oh, and married.

This one particular crush got me thinking about how I could punctuate times in my life, and I realized it wasn't by hair style or clothing trend. I can easily pin point different moments - both during school and after - by the object of my affection at the time. Awful.

There were a couple of important ones back in elementary school. You know, the type of crush that took away the cooties and replaced them with blue eyes and blonde hair. Clearly, Zach Morris was a big icon for me then. This particular guy may or may not now be a Facebook friend (haha), but I don't think I've seen him since sixth grade, and yet I still laugh when I go through old photos and find the shots that I'm sure I must've have stared at with no end.

Middle school is sort of a blur... There was the close friend that never remembered he was supposed to take me to the 8th grade dance... and the other guy that brought me purple roses when he ended up being my date.

Flash forward to high school. Small fish in big, gigantic pond. Suddenly, there were many, many guys I had never seen before. One, two, and three years older than me. Before I found the aforementioned redhead, there was a major crush that pretty much all of my friends should remember. That year, Freshman Dance was in February. I asked him in September. I think about it now and am completely embarrassed by my actions. I also have to wonder whether or not he was truly my friend or just a guy that couldn't help but be intrigued by the affections of a silly freshman. From what I remember, he was used to it. There were movie outings, rides home, and after school theater rehearsals. It was a long time ago, but I can remember every bit of it. And when I met up with him years later while on a trip with a friend of mine, I couldn't help but feel like that 14 year-old all over again, split in two. One part giggly and giddy, one part 23 and not so grown up.

Like I said, old habits die hard. Big time.

Beyond high school and college, there are real world crushes. People that help you pass the time in the workplace or maybe neighbors you constantly meet in the elevator or on the street. There was the guy with the office that I would pass when it was completely unnecessary. And I can tell you that I still blush when my customer crush walks into the restaurant. This has been going on for 5 years because it clearly didn't leave me when I left Philly.

So do we ever grow out of this? Does the crush stop being fun/entertaining/painful? Even when we're married and happy, do we stop thinking about the ones that might have (or never would have) been? My mom always told me that when I go to my high school reunion, the good looking, popular ones will be bald and fat. I can only hope that one day those images will erase the ones from a long time ago.

Because, let's be honest, as the wise Mr. Baker said in Sixteen Candles, crushes aren't meant to be easy.

"I wonder if you'll ever think of me that way."

I know I'm diving into my own destruction.

What is it about the bad boy?

What makes the reckless, dangerous ones so darn appealing? "Cry-Baby" Wade Walker. James Dean. Dylan McKay. Colin Farrell. Try to deny it. You can't.



For a long time, I tried to tell myself I was not that girl. I wasn't looking for the difficult one, the guy that could hurt me so easily it was if I were asking for it. I refused to be the type that walked right into heartbreak, inheriting a difficult past and all the baggage that comes with it. It's unfortunate, because when I think about the few guys I have dated or really been interested in, I am totally that girl!

I think there's something in women that makes them want to fix things. By things I mean people more so than leaky faucets or flat tires. Is it possible that it's in our nature to nurture them? If we find them when they're broken, and we can rehab them, then they're ours, right? Like a rescued pet...

At work, we have this customer that I truly hate. I despise him with every bone in my body. Some time ago he created a problem for me and basically told his server that I could go to hell. And to top it off, he was wearing a Michael Vick jersey right after the Eagles acquired him - when many people were still on the "I Hate Michael Vick" campaign trail." That pretty much screamed ASSHOLE right from the start. This guy is rude, obnoxious, and entirely good looking. How come those things tend to come in a package, wrapped up perfectly for our consumption? What makes things worse is that he knows how much he irritates me. He'll stare at me until I'm so damn uncomfortable that I'm forced to look at him. It's all kind of... intriguing?



I just can't help it. No matter how much I want to like the nice guy, the nice guy needs a little edge. An edge that blurs the lines of boredom. But yet, just as much as we're engineered to clean up the mess, they're predisposed to break our hearts.

Sometimes it's the guy that has the horrible stories from his childhood, other times it's the one that you've seen with a parade of different girls. You know it's bad news, and you don't want to look... but you have to. It's like that wreck on the side of the road - avert your eyes, or you might get pulled into something you should have stayed away from in the first place. In terms of the fictional world, really, Puck is a little hotter than Finn, and Ryan was always miles ahead of Seth.

Trust me. You can't fix him, or tame him, or whatever else you think you are capable above all others. Bad is bad, and it's bad for you.

However... Let's think like Penny Lane for a minute... "You never take it seriously, you never get hurt..."

Is that possible?

"So why do we chose the boys that are naughty? I don't fit in, so why do you want me?"


HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GWEN!

Can music save your mortal soul?

Last night, I couldn't sleep. Maybe it was because of my insane excitement for tonight's episode of "Glee." It's more likely the unrest was caused by the fact that I drank iced tea at 8:30pm. Either way, I found myself writing a blog in my head all while tossing and turning.

Because tonight's new episode of "Glee" features the much anticipated Britney Spears centered storyline, I started wondering about the entertainers that my generation will be left with. On a couple of occasions, I have discussed - with those older than me - the music, movies, and pop culture figures that my unfortunate generation lacks. We have no Clark Gable, no Frank Sinatra, and no Billie Holiday. Our versions can't even be considered poor substitutes.



If you've grown up like I have, you're lucky to have the opportunity to be exposed to some of the greats the entertainment world has ever offered. I remember many car rides listening to Sinatra, Bennett, or Torme. When I turned 12, we went to see Liza Minnelli at Radio City Music Hall, and I have her autograph hanging on my wall. And, although I never saw him perform live, I did watch Sinatra exit the stage door of Radio City. I can picture it exactly, including the brown, bomber jacket he wore. My dad saw him 31 times.

To this day, I also find myself singing along to oldies that I don't remember ever learning the words to. The Four Seasons, Beach Boys, Barry Manilow... I know all of them. When I got the chance to meet Frankie Valli, I couldn't contain my excitement.



So, what will I be playing for my kids one day? I have no doubt that my playlist will include some of my parents' favorites, but what about the current music that I am sometimes embarrassed to have on my iPod? Since the time that I started buying my own music and movies, I have spent a lot of money on both, filling books with CDs and shelves (or boxes) with DVDs. But no matter how much I love Gwen Stefani and No Doubt or Jennifer Lopez and Johnny Depp, it just isn't the same.

Today, we have celebrities that are created from nothing. Groups like Backstreet Boys and Spice Girls were formed by answering ads for auditions. People like Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian became famous for... hmm... Yeah, still thinking. Even though the early 1900s were full of movie studios sometimes now referred to as star factories, it was different. They found unknowns, gave them a look, and signed them to a picture deal. Press agents worked tirelessly to keep the bad news out of the movie magazines housewives read while their husbands were at work. Today, publicists thrive on the scandal and celebrities almost always rise, like a phoenix from the ashes, to revive seemingly ruined careers.



As a generation, we've seen entertainment world tragedies like the loss of Aaliyah and Lisa "Left Eye" Lopes. While both deaths were sad and all too soon, it's hard to compare the loss to that of John Lennon or Elvis Presley - musical legends the world still mourns to some degree. And while we've lost Michael Jackson in our time, it seems like we can't really claim him for our own. Though still working on music, the height of his career - as we know it - had unfortunately passed.

So what do we leave for the next generation? Chris Brown and Rihanna's infamous fight? Miley Cyrus's barebacked Vanity Fair shoot? Mel Gibson's multiple rants? Madonna's girl-on-girl-on-girl MTV liplock? Lindsay Lohan's jail stints? Britney Spears shaving her head/attacking a car with an umbrella/getting taken away in an ambulance?

The George Clooneys and Matt Damons are few and far between, and it's a shame. We are in a completely different time, and the need for fame and celebrity is scary, especially when it comes with few consequences. I'd take another Paul McCartney or Harrison Ford any day.

"But something touched me deep inside, the day the music died."

I can see a swath of sinners settin' yonder, and they're actin' like a pack of fools.

When I was a lot younger, I remember getting in trouble for speaking out of turn and saying something entirely wrong at the moment. Now, what I said, I have absolutely no idea, but I still remember the lesson I took away from that event. It's a lesson that I'm fairly sure Elisabeth Hassleback and Kanye West never learned. What is this all important rule?

Think before you speak.



While you need to put thought into the words before they exit your mouth, another crucial point is considering how you say the words. Tone, speed, volume. Everything can completely alter the meaning and goal of what you are saying. Maybe my summers of theater camp and years of theater classes helped me here, but I absolutely believe that creating the thought and executing it in the proper way can aid your success.

While working in the entertainment industry, I learned a couple of key things. 1) People will yell at you for no reason. 2) If you go about it the right way, your way of asking for something may just get you what you want.

I will never really understand what gives people the right to think they can raise their voices, berate you, and maybe even make you cry... crushing your spirit into oblivion. Who told that crew guy it was okay to yell and me and complain to my boss because he didn't like my one hour of not dispensing petty cash? When did that producer learn that he could throw things off his desk while screaming at an assistant, only to hire him back an hour later? Who allowed you people to believe this is a normal existence?

On the same point, where on earth would an employee get the right to raise his or her voice to a boss? I can't imagine any person would think this is acceptable.

In moments of frustration, we all seem to inflate a bit - blood pressure hitting the roof, just waiting for the body to explode. I think you'd be hard pressed to find a person that remains completely calm in a tense situation. I myself am guilty of a road rage blackout in which my friend told me I uttered every curse word possible. I remembered none of it. It is moments like this one that push me to reevaluate the situation. It's best to step away, take a breath, and think about just what you need to say and exactly how you should say it.



In California, I was presented with a number of great potential opportunities. When I learned that a jovial nature and a relaxed attitude with a strong interest was the way to success, I was able to attend some really cool events and meet some great people. Nearly every celebrity photo op or red carpet position I was granted came to me purely because I figured out how to properly approach the gatekeeper and phrase the request.

I'm a little stubborn, I admit. And, like most, I don't like being wrong or questioned, but it happens. I promise you, I will be much more receptive to the demand if you can figure out how to calm down and how to speak to me on a common level. I may be shorter than you, younger than you, or of a different gender, but it by no means says that I am not your equal or even, possibly, your superior.

Please, I beg of you, think before you speak and learn how to tailor your sentences to your audience. Not everyone is forgiving or forgetting.

"If you're smart, you'll learn your lessons well."
(I am a huge Godspell fan, and this was one decent performance I could find.)

The more boys I meet, the more I love my dog.

I have a lot of pet peeves. If you know me well, you can recognize that I have irrational hatred for silly things like when a person's jeans get stuck in the back of his shoes. I also possess a very strong dislike for Gisele Bundchen and Monica Keena. Neither of these people change my life on a daily basis, but I'm bothered by them.

However, one thing I hate more than any of the aforementioned items is when someone assumes that I'm stupid. It's frustrating to me when someone feels the need to point out the obvious or express commonly held knowledge. The worst is when a person starts to tell me something and prefaces the statement with, "You don't understand."

Please, please don't tell me what I already know.



Remember not too long ago when I blogged about men and the Swingers syndrome? Guys that can't pick up a phone to call without checking the days off on their calendars... Well, said guy - let's call him (ummmm....) Stan - did actually call. My phone rang, when I wasn't expecting it to, four days after we met. At that point I had pretty much figured he wasn't going to do anything about it, so I was a bit surprised. Stan and I had a nice conversation that lasted nearly an hour. We covered a range of topics and even discussed some things our matchmaker didn't know about him. I would be lying if I said I was completely taken by the chat, but I was interested in hanging out and getting to know him. Stan explained that the following week was his first full week back at work (he's a teacher), and that he would be busy that weekend with his younger brother's 21st birthday. While he thought his weekend might not be completely booked, we made plans for the following Tuesday instead. No specifics were set, but he did say we would talk later in the week.

Somehow, during the course of his oh-so-busy week and partying for the 21st birthday, I'm guessing Stan decided he wasn't really interested. Maybe he decided that on the phone and making plans was his way out of a conversation. Who knows? Needless to say, I didn't hear from him later that week, that weekend, Monday night, or Tuesday - the day of our supposed plans.

Readers, I am not dumb.

It's more than obvious that he made the decision that he was not going to take me out.

Really, Stan, it's okay... I let it go and figured he was an idiot. An idiot that also has to see our matchmaker (and my best friend) every day at work.

The impetus for this post came about an hour ago. Via text message (just a note, when you need to convey something with any value, using a text message is the most cowardly option).

Stan: Hey. I don't think I'm interested in dating right now. I'm sorry. Hope you are well.

Wow... A couple weeks after we spoke, and I'm supposed to be thinking you're still going to call me with grand plans for a date? Sorry.

I want to be clear - this is not about being bitter. This is about being angry that a guy would assume a girl is so dumb and desperate as to be hoping and waiting for him to take her out for a date. Please, don't insult my intelligence and figure that I haven't already answered those questions about you on my own. Also, it helps if you don't tell your matchmaker that you are absolutely serious about dating when you're absolutely not.

Often, things are better left unsaid. At this point, Stan, you really could have just left it alone instead of making a poor attempt to save face. You were already crossed off in my book.

"That boy there, well, he's playing a fool."

I don't know what I want, so don't ask me.

I am the kind of person that has always imagined the road ahead of me. I've planned years in advance, often anticipating the worst and preparing for it as well. I had college brochures and applications arriving in my mailbox far before the time I'd need to submit them. I painted pretty pictures for my future, imagining the house in Beverly Hills with the tennis courts I'd never use and then later the second home in Beacon Hill in Boston. There was also the summer night when my best friend and I created the stories of our eventual happy endings, complete with fairy tale weddings to great guys and the kids that would follow.

Do you know how hard it is to find out that nothing can go exactly as you planned? Imagined?

When I was looking into colleges, I considered myself really lucky; I knew exactly what I wanted to do and the person I wanted to be. I knew so many people that had absolutely no clue what they would major in or what career path they would choose. The path was simple. Undergrad with a major in Public Relations, preferably at a school in a warm climate (University of Miami - CHECK). Move out to Los Angeles with an entry level job in PR. Ultimately become that sought after celebrity publicist responsible for planning big premieres and negotiating positive career moves. Own that huge house in Beverly Hills, etc... The list goes on.



Well, no one anticipated a transfer of schools after one year in college. I hadn't planned for that. I also hadn't figured ahead of time that I would absolutely hate working in entertainment PR like a couple of college professors and advisors cautioned I would. That part only took about two weeks. Two weeks for my imaginary perfect life to completely change course.

What now? I had a job, and I was perfectly content for a while. Occasionally, I would toy with the idea of doing something else. Business school in Boston? Hmm... Didn't want to take any tests to get in, and I didn't want to pay the course fees. A job with Disney World Hotels in Orlando? Hmmm... Didn't want to move to Florida.

I often spent time looking at education courses, trying to find my way into being a teacher when I had a degree and life experience in something completely different. Truth be told, I have absolutely ZERO desire to once again be a student myself, and yet I still think about why I never considered being a teacher. I was lucky enough to have some amazing teachers throughout school. A few that I still hold responsible for my ability and passion to write continue to inspire me. I think about how much I love little kids and how I'd want to be the person to spend a full day with them. I'd also love to teach the writing fundamentals that I learned and still hold as so incredibly important. Sometimes, I'll see teachers grading papers over coffee at the deli, and I find myself jealous that I have no essays on Gatsby or paragraphs on summer vacation to read.



And so, here I am. Somewhere down the line in my life, and yet very much at the beginning at the age of 26. Today, while watching Oprah (which I almost never watch), I felt as though I was close to tears. Her special was on education and the incredible teachers that continue to make a difference in the lives of kids all over the world. It was almost as if something was missing for me. There was a sense of regret in not being one of those teachers because I know it would 100% be where I belonged. But I made never made that decision.

Not too long ago, a teacher friend of mine said she wished there were easier ways for non teachers to make the career change. She told me that kids have such a respect for people that have done something else and can bring a different perspective to the classroom.

So what kind of perspective do I offer as a former ET/Insider employee and a manager of a Jewish deli???

"I'm just a girl, trying to find a place in this world."

You can call me, call me anytime.

All men (and boys) reading this blog, raise your hands. I'm gonna imagine there's, like, three of you. Keep your hand raised if you've seen the movie Swingers. For our sake, let's say you have. Now I ask,

What the hell is wrong with you?

I wonder, when someone talked to you about dating, did they hand you a rulebook? Were there guidelines regarding time and place? Right and wrong? Desperation verses interest? Shed a light for me, please. I'll be happy to listen.

When I first saw the movie Swingers, it was a while ago. I had yet to experience "real" dating, and I always sort of wondered if guys in that world really followed unwritten rules about when to call their "beautiful babies." When I moved away from New Jersey and finally encountered guys in LA, I realized that it is in fact a horrible truth that guys have a whole set of dumbass regulations they hold near and dear to their hearts. One of my male roommates even had a framed poster of the men of Swingers hanging in the apartment. The poster also contained some sort of quote on calling or not calling the ladies.

I'm sure there are plenty of girls that may decide to up and run if the guys that just recently obtained their numbers called within hours or even a day. But let's think about this, guys, there is a very good chance that the one you want to call is in fact (not so happily) waiting for her phone to ring. Assuming the number she gave you is real and will ring through on her end, there is a reason she bestowed those digits upon you: SHE WANTS YOU TO CALL. Why is it so hard to pick up the phone? And if you're really that scared, it's even easier to cowardly text a simple message.

While I'm told guys are just as frightened of rejection as girls, I find it hard to believe sometimes. For the many that stick true to traditional dating roles and recognize the man's responsibility to phone first, it seems that there is some sort of level of control that these guys enjoy holding onto. Is it possible that the second they pick up the phone they relinquish the ability to determine the direction of said potential relationship? Hmm...

Because I have learned my lesson in the past, I am one of those that believes there are some things that can and (maybe) should be a guy's task. Unfortunately for me - and the many like me - this means I wait. How long though? Just as Vince Vaughn and his buddies set a six-day span of time before dialing, should this mean that maybe I stamp an expired date on the guy? Trying not to.

Don't want to.

"Cover me in kisses, baby. Cover me in love."

Close your eyes and think of me, and soon I will be there...

Do you consider yourself a good friend?

I'm sure most of you would answer yes and hope that your friends would say the same about you. Knowing all relationships in life take work in order to maintain proper and healthy function, what I'm curious about is exactly how difficult it can be to earn the title of "good friend."

I'm sure you've heard the quote regarding footprints being left on the heart. Some come into our lives and leave without making a mark, while others can be there forever whether in physical presence or spirit, simply by creating an indelible memory - positive or negative. At the age of 26, when making new and lasting friendships can unfortunately be difficult, I have started to categorize these so-called footprints and tried my best to keep those people in my life that have been a helpful hand, a kind word, or a cherished friend.

Women's magazines often write articles regarding cleaning out the bad from our lives. These topics tend to come up around the fall, when a new school year starts, and spring, when purging the clutter isn't just about the junk sitting in the bottom of the closet or under the bed. From listening to a lot of my close friends and trying to do this myself, I have learned that one of the most difficult things you can do, as a person and a friend, is learn when to cut ties and put an end to the relationships that have been supposedly toxic or just plain negative. What is the point of hanging onto a person simply due to obligation or ease? When you find you're stressed, complaining, or just worried, it's time for it to end.

If we count our friends by the number of people we supposedly associate with for the terms of online Facebook networking, we're all huge social butterflies and probably can't even keep everyone's names straight. But when you think about how many of those people truly know you and that you honestly know, how many people are there? I can easily say that I have less than 10 of these people in my life (family members not included). Yes, I accept that we all are imperfect but that we know each other's flaws and issues and just how to handle them. With these people, I am never afraid to be myself - silly obsessions, oddball quirks, and nagging pet peeves. I know that at the end of the day, whether it's been a good one or a bad one, one of them is always willing to listen through text, IM, e-mail, or phone.

After emerging from the college experience with only three new close friends in addition to those pals from high school that still show up as favorites on my cell phone call log, I experienced the cross-country move (as you all well know) and tried to find a rung on the ladder of LA social climbers. Without the comforts of high school hallways or college dorm living, it becomes increasingly more difficult to identify true people in our lives, especially in a place like Los Angeles. Can we still use the same things to evaluate what it means to be a good friend? Or do we have to accept that everyone is just looking for a place in this world and might not have the time to care about you or forming a bond?

Over the years, I have managed to somehow decide with whom I want to and need to associate. I have dealt with negativity and pesky qualities that stressed me out more than necessary. I have ended friendships with people while young and accepted that we have been able to grow up and once again be in touch, and I have also realized that some of these people are just not for me. Maybe they can't accept me for who I am, and - while being completely honest - maybe I can't accept them for who they are. We all need outlets sometimes, and that may even mean we stress about our very best friends. But, at the end of the day, if the stressors outweigh the good stuff, it's just not important enough to be worried all the time. Think about the people that matter to you and the people to whom you matter.

"You just call out my name, and you know wherever I am I'll come running."

I Can't Be Tamed.

Where were you when you were 13? Who were you listening to on the radio? What show did you have to see on TV? Who did you try to emulate when you walked out of the mall?

Let's see... Well, I was in 7th grade. I was a Sonny & Cher fan. I loved Sheryl Crow and the Cranberries. I also owned a lot of showtunes. I generally watched shows like "Fresh Prince of Bel Air" and "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" My style of choice probably most closely represented anyone that was stuck in t-shirts and jeans. Maybe sort of "Freaks and Geeks" without my having ever watched the shows at the point.

I'm kind of scared when I think about most girls at this age today.

They've got this:


(Miley Cyrus)

And... umm... this:


(Taylor Momsen)

I have managed to position myself in this teen world by default thanks to my Disney Channel influenced way of life. I've seen many of these idols in concert: Miley Cyrus, Demi Lovato, Jonas Brothers, Jordin Sparks, Taylor Swift... The list goes on. I watch "Wizards of Waverly Place," "JONAS LA," "Good Luck, Charlies," etc. But what continues to baffle me is why, when I go out of my house, I constantly spot girls that would rather look like Miley than, say, Selena Gomez.



They may wear their fun homemade t-shirts while running around the concert venues, but they pair them with shorts so short that would still be considered summer wear with five inches added to the hem. The worst thing is that they're accompanied by parents. I don't know about you, but there is no way I would've been allowed out of my house in such attire, let alone have been taken out looking like that while under the supposedly watchful eye of parental guidance. Though modesty has sort of been instilled in me, and I owned maybe own or two shirts that my mom asked me to change, but I could never imagine being part of the skin baring contest that comes along with having the word "teen" at the end of your age.

I'm aware that there is a Britney Spears for every generation. During the summer of 2004, my parents owned a business at the Jersey shore. During my time there, I worked with a guy that had recently graduated high school. Most of the time we worked together, our conversation revolved around the appalling nature of youngins that were spotted walking up and down the boardwalk in extremely short skirts and skimpy tops. He estimated the average age of these girls at 13, meaning plenty were younger. I am 100% certain that his negative comments were not purely for my benefit. Recently, a family friend spoke of not wanting to spend time on that very same boardwalk watching the teens and tweens shake it for the world to see.

I've always thought that there is an unfortunate double-edged sword that comes along with this subject. Whose job is it to make the decision? While in high school, I was very much a Britney and Christina fan. I made the choice to walk down the hallways of high school looking like the farthest thing from a Rolling Stone cover.

So, now I ask, where does the responsibility lie? Does this all mean that Miley needs to wear the Hannah wig forever and pull on jeans instead of the booty shorts (and where are HER parents? A different blog entirely.)? You'd think someone in her position should bare the weight of social responsibility, but the idea that she - and idols like her - be considered active and productive role models can't be required. Instead, it should simply be thought of as a good idea.

And, hey, is Taylor Momsen in your house holding you hostage? Does she flip magazine pages in front of your kid and supply her with the funds to dress just like Gossip Girl demands? How is it fair to place all the blame on those entertainers or performers that profit from the allowance dollars parents hand their children?

Though I'm not yet a parent, and I don't plan on being one for some time, I recognize that for every Mandy Moore there is a Lady Gaga, and for every Jonas Brother there is an Adam Lambert. They may not all wear purity rings and mouse ears. The next time you see something you don't like, flip the station, change the channel, or have a conversation. You may not be able to tame Miley, but let's hope more people have success teaching their children to tame themselves.

(Sidenote - my blogging site timed out during my first draft, freezing the save function. I did my best to recreate my own words of wisdom halfway through the entry, but it's hard to do that twice.)

"I'm wired a different way."

Embrace me, my sweet embraceable you.

The art of the hug.

How often are you given the opportunity to hug someone? Once a day? Every other week? Do you take the chance, or is it an awkward encounter you'd rather not experience?



Over the last few years, I've had a lot of new people in my life. I've also traveled back and forth from an old home to a new one, therefore reconnecting and visiting with so many people I've known in one capacity or another. In doing so, I've become very aware of the embrace of a hug - friendly, passionate, or otherwise.



Let's be honest - a hug may not hold a lot of value for some and pales in comparison to the kiss for many. But it is a step up from a handshake and miles away from a wave. I think my first experience with "hug shock," as I'll call it, came while living in Miami during my first year of college. I became friends with a group of guys native to the locale and its culture. The idea of hugging these guys I didn't know simply upon meeting was slightly jarring. Most of them topped it off with a peck on the cheek to boot. Uh, hello? Personal space? It took a while for the hug shock to wear off. I remember before introducing these same friends to a New Jersey friend, I felt compelled to warn her about the greeting. After receiving multiple hugs and kisses, she was taken by surprise.

Yet, after a while, there was something comfortable and sweet in that meeting or parting. More importantly, it was genuine and kind. Quickly, I built up a comfort level in the ways of the hug.



A couple years ago, I had a friend visit me in LA. Though we weren't anywhere near best friends, we had - at that point - known each other for a long time. When she hugged me to say goodbye, I got the feeling that she just didn't care. Have you ever hugged a person that attempts to keep six inches of space between you? It's like the 8th grade dance version of a hug. Germaphobe or not, it's entirely weird. There need not be love, romantic or platonic... simply the notion that you care about a person.

During my time in LA, I was obviously far away from my own family and welcomed into that of my sister-in-law (first time I'm saying that - AH!). It was so nice to have hugs from parents and grandparents that already offered me a place in their home when I was missing my own. I call hugs like theirs real hugs. No hug shock, no tape measure perfecting a distance, no boney arms strangely resting on your back. A real, honest to god hug is often much more important than you realize. For me, it offers support, and it feels like home.

So, after a weekend of wedding celebration, I'm left sitting here, once again analyzing my theory of hug shock. I hugged a lot of people and - surprisingly - shook fewer hands. Maybe it was something about the occasion or possibly it was that there was something so real and kind about this group of (mostly) California people. From the family I've known all my life to the couple's friends that I had just met, these hugs were real and honest... and felt like home. No hug shock to be found.

Maybe you're not a hugger. Don't bother. If you'd rather keep someone at arm's length, offer a handshake instead. A hug shouldn't be fleeting or obligated. You should care. And, if you don't, go nurse your hug shock somewhere else.

"Above all, I want these arms about you."

Lend me you ear, and I'll sing you a song. I will try not to sing out of key.

Ladies and gentlemen, my big brother is getting married. After just under a year of being engaged and over five years of a relationship, my 29 year-old brother will be walking down the aisle to marry Michelle. I can't believe it.

This entry is about Jared. :-)

I can easily say that Jared and I have always been close. Don't get me wrong; we had our moments. There was that time he chased me around the house with scissors and used the intercom to tell me he was Freddy Kruger and killed my brother. Or, there was that trip to Vegas when I wouldn't give him back his Ben Fold Five CD, so he pushed me into the wall. Who could forget his interest in WWF and the need to try the Undertaker's moves on me? I also remember how I thought it was funny to try to dig my nails into his arm when we were stuck in the back of the car heading to NY. Then there were the times that he was jamming with friends on guitar, and I begged to listen, forcing myself into a little corner of the room.

Yet, for every time we annoyed the crap out of each other, there were also moments of brilliance. Haha. I remember writing scripts with our neighborhood friends to film our own skits (we'll briefly forgive Jared for TAPING OVER ALL OF IT) or perform medleys in the family room. We were also very creative at coming up with games to play on our many road trips. For some reason, we decided that it was fun to play "hotel" and pretended to be working at registration desks, using our pillows as imaginary computers. To this day we have no idea why that was entertaining.

Jared and I are different in a lot of ways. He has an unfailing respect for art - music, film, fiction - and his highly formed opinions have always interested me, even if the specific subject matter is not my taste. He's Johnny Cash and John Williams. I'm Elvis Presley and Taylor Swift. He's Robin Hood (the Disney Version) and Ed Wood. I'm Lilo & Stitch and Almost Famous. But I think about how many times we have been able to share a common interest and how I'm never thinking about how I wish I could have a better relationship with my sibling. When Jared went with me to see the film version of Mamma Mia (it was my second viewing), I remember being so happy to hear him laugh at the same moments and find he actually enjoyed something I already loved so much. And years before, following a discussion of "Fraggle Rock," I talked about how great it would be if they made stuffed animals of the little characters called Doozers. The next day, my brother came home from work with something that had just arrived in stock - my very own Doozer. Over the years, we've seen countless Broadway shows together and have discussed strengths and weaknesses of each. Again, he's Sweeney Todd. I'm Hairspray. What we would be if not different and yet the same?

When I think about my brother, I'm reminded of some of the worst moments too. Those times only include when I've had to say goodbye. Leaving him before heading to Miami for school was terrible, and walking away in southern California (not once, but twice) was equally difficult. However, just knowing Jared is a phone call away makes me smile. It was Jared that took me in a large circle, driving around Los Angeles on my first weekend as a resident, and, in a couple of days, it will again be Jared that drives me around LA, this time visiting some of the places that I've missed sharing with him (yes, even when I drag him to Fred Segal). We'll recall inside jokes, that we have completely forgotten how they came to be, and we'll definitely be playing some Rock Band, hoping to get through another difficult track.

I'm looking forward to standing next to him as he gets married. I'll be the Best (Wo)man for the best friend I could ever have. It's true you can't pick your relatives, but I'm damn glad he has been there for me.




"All I need is my buddy."