You Lie Like a Priceless Persian Rug on a Rich Man's Floor.

No offense to my lovely male friends and family members, but I honestly think that - sometimes - being a man means that you are genetically inferior. Something about your make up means you are simply incapable of thinking and acting properly in many every day situations.

Most people know you won't ask for directions. It's also probably highly likely that you'll ignore the GPS, if you have one. You wait until the last minute to buy gifts, if you remember to get them at all. There's also a good chance that you'll forget to convey important details about various topics.

For the moment, I'm going to hate on you. I'm sorry, but for now it just needs to happen.

I wonder if I have the words "HURT ME" stamped across my forehead. Do I look like the girl that wants to be messed with? Is there something in my nature that conveys some unwritten rule about how you should treat me? Look, I know I'm not the only girl to ever be hurt, but I'm tired of it, and I'm ready to stand up for myself.

I'm standing up for myself by simply saying, "Fuck you." It's like that L'Oreal slogan - "Because you're worth it." I don't deserve to be treated like crap... or lied to... or forgotten... or any other shitty thing.

There are things you tell a person you're dating. One of the very first things should probably be, "I don't want/can't handle/am not looking for a relationship." Something about texting a girl every single day, asking her out, paying for dinner, holding her hand... blah blah... kind of says the complete opposite. Because sometimes, it's what you do that speaks a lot louder than any words you could ever utter.

For a long time, I thought that I knew myself very well. I knew where I placed my values and opinions. However, when it came to knowing my own self-worth, I danced around a place called Low Self-Esteem. I was more outwardly confident than I ever felt on the inside. I don't know if I really believed that I deserved to have the things that I wanted. I was pretending. I was also far too scared to even hold onto something if I had it. There was always part of me that tried to push things away if I was frightened; I still do it a little bit.

But I'm passed thinking I shouldn't have or can't have someone that can be truthful, caring, and open. Like my best friend says, no one is perfect, and everyone has issues or problems. They just need to work with my issues. I'm sorry if I'm not screwed up enough for you, but maybe all of this could have been avoided if you had just said you weren't ready. Or perhaps if you didn't contact me at all the first day, or the day after that, or every day for the two weeks following. You shouldn't have visited me at work.

You shouldn't have introduced me to your mom.

I'm not without flaws, for sure. I'm also not unbreakable, but I am strong. Stronger than I ever thought I was. And, you know what, when I looked at myself today, for the first time I truly felt like saying, "His loss."

I hope you get your shit together, and I hope that it all works out for you. I'm not evil, and I'm only sometimes a bitch, so I don't harbor any ill will for you, but I do think you were wrong. You were wrong for ever pretending like things were as good as you could make them seem.

I know that you can't fix your inferiority problem. I mean, you were bred that way. But wise up.

I'm so ready to find someone that doesn't use me to acknowledge his issues. I am not that girl.



"So don't bring me those big brown eyes and tell me that you're sorry."

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it.

Yesterday afternoon, I drove by my high school. Without looking, I already knew what was happening. The drum beats clearly signified early rehearsals for marching band and color-guard; I was part of neither. However, it brought back memories of theater and music folk mingling in the hallways of "D-Wing," our territory of the school, and suddenly I found myself remembering the innocence of the first day of school and what it was like to be a kid... The world was so important, and yet nothing at all really mattered.



(Yes, Dory, we were the cougars... laugh. It's funny.)

We were all drama queens - male or female. I'm fairly certain that there was a large chunk of time in which someone I knew was always crying - myself or a friend. 14, 16, 18. It didn't matter. High school was the world, the bubble. We were best of friends, but we talked about each other. We were buddies in class, but we never saw each other out of school. We were group partners on a project, but we hated having to carry someone else's load. It was truly a microcosm for the bigger picture. And yet it wasn't even close to experiencing the real world.

There have been times when my brother and I would see kids either at Disney World or exiting school at 3:30pm, and all we could think of is, "They have no idea what's coming." I interact with kids on a daily basis at work, and I'm reminded of how easy everything was before term papers, application essays, job interviews, and monthly bills. Remember that break down because you had too much work due? I had one. Remember the tears shed over a nasty rumor? I was there.

That, all of that, was easy. Really, what if you had to deal with half the shit those kids in Hogwarts had? I'm pretty sure you never encountered a Death Eater or a Dementor.



Responsibilities were small but heavily weighted at the time. One year was more complicated than the one before. But there were structures, routines, rules. Maybe that's part of the reason so many people go into the field of education. It helps to prolong and sustain what we have learned and cultivated for so many years. School, break, school, summer... Truthfully, post-college, one of the weirdest things is getting used to the idea that you no longer have a real summer, one that involves movies, days off, and vacations.

True, I have a lot of great memories from high school, and I still hold onto a few friends from those years (and some before). I was the weird kid that enjoyed writing papers and reading teacher feedback; I have a lot of my old work underneath my bed. But I hated the tears and the melodramatic everything that I was involved in or causing. It was easier, yes, but it was silly, immature, and just a part of growing up... getting to the more difficult stuff.

I used to say that I would go back and do it all over again. High school, that is. But lately, when I've thought about it, I realized I have absolutely no desire to be in those hallways or in a 15 year-olds shoe's ever again (although, it'll all come back one day when I have my own kids). I remember a lot of heartache and unnecessary problems. I remember bitter fights and rude e-mails. Sure, there were proms and shows, sleepovers and get-togethers, but it's over, and over isn't always a bad thing.

So, yeah, maybe life isn't that easy once you leave high school and college, but there's nothing holding you back, no bell to disrupt your test-taking (or sleeping, if you were THAT kid). The choices don't have to be easy, and the answers don't have to be in multiple choice format. Because you'll get there one way or another.

"Do one thing everyday that scares you."

There's nothing wrong with loving who you are.

**Before reading this blog entry, please read this article:
By Ronnie Polaneczky
Philadelphia Daily News
Daily News Columnist

THIS IS ONE of those stories that make me want to say "I'm sorry" to gay people for the nonsense they endure from some heterosexuals who give the rest of us straight people a bad name.

So please, Alix Genter, accept my heartfelt apology that you were denied the chance to purchase the wedding gown of your dreams from Here Comes the Bride. The manager of the salon, in Somers Point, N.J., said she didn't want to be associated with your pending "illegal action."

Yep, that's actually how she referred to your wedding, next July, to your longtime partner (whose name you asked me to withhold in this column, as she's publicity-shy). You plan to apply for a civil union in New Jersey, where you live, and to be formally wed in New York, which just legalized gay marriage. But you're also arranging a big, blowout ceremony and reception for 200 at Normandy Farm in Blue Bell, where your family and friends will toast your commitment.

"We are very fortunate in that our families love and support us," you told me yesterday, from your apartment in Highland Park, N.J., near Rutgers University, where you're completing your Ph.D. in history. "They're so excited about our wedding."

And so it came to be that last Saturday, you were at Here Comes the Bride with a cheering section of six well-wishers helping you try on dresses: your mom and dad, your aunt, a cousin and two friends of the family. Yours is the kind of big, engaged clan in which everyone's involved in everyone else's lives, in a good way.

"The fact that even my dad would come to a bridal shop - that should tell you something about how close we all are," you said of your family members, who hail from Huntingdon Valley but spend weekends in Ventnor (hence your bridal shopping at the beach). "I spend almost every weekend with them at the Shore."

Last Saturday's trip to Here Comes the Bride was a typically fun outing. Your mom packed little "gift bags" of muffins and other munchies, and a neighbor contributed a bottle of champagne. Donna, the store manager, asked you not to eat in the salon - "The dresses are white; we don't want stains," she told you - so you saved the party for afterward.

By then, you had reason to pop the cork: You'd found the dress you wanted, but wondered if the manufacturer could use a more-lightweight fabric in the version you'd wear next summer. Donna promised to investigate, and you left the store, delighted.

So how weird it must have been to get a call on Tuesday from Donna (she wouldn't tell you her last name, and she wouldn't tell me, either, when I spoke with her yesterday), and to have a conversation so different from the one you had with her on Saturday.

Apparently, Donna was stunned to learn, after reviewing your customer-information sheet, that you're a lesbian. On the paperwork, you'd crossed out the word "groom" and written "partner" instead, and then inserted your fiancée's name.

"She said she wouldn't work with me because I'm gay," you recalled. "She also said that I came from a nice Jewish family, and that it was a shame I was gay. She said, 'There's right, and there's wrong. And this is wrong.' "

She also said - and you have the voicemail to prove it - that what you were planning was "illegal" and that "we do not participate in any illegal actions."

"I was devastated," you told me. "I was crying. I called her a bigot; I told her, 'I am a happy person and you are a miserable person.' Then she hung up on me."

You admit to using some choice words when you called her back. But trust me, whatever you said was probably poetry compared with what I believe most decent people would've spewed at her on your behalf.

You know what's strange? When I called Donna yesterday to get her side of the story, she both confirmed your version of events and accused you of "stirring up drama." She said that your writing the word "partner" was basically a provocation, evidence of a need "to show that she's different."

"They get that way," she told me.

By "they," she meant women who were fed up with men because "men can be difficult," and so now they "experiment" with female relationships because they're tired of having men boss them around.

She told me about a friend whose wife left him for another woman. And about a young family member who was molested by a same-sex adult male. And about a gay man who once plunged a knife into a chair in the restaurant where she worked. And - she finally lost me here - something about the Navy SEALs.

"It's a lot of drama," she said.

She also found you "aggressive," didn't appreciate your cursing and thought I should speak with your father before writing this column, as she "sensed" his disappointment in your decision to marry a woman.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

The thing is, by the end of the day yesterday, after a few conversations, Donna seemed kind of sorry about what she put you through. Granted, she sounded mostly sorry that people found out about it from the negative review you wrote of your experience on the Yelp business website. But she at least reached out to the woman who'd referred your family to Here Comes the Bride in the first place.

"The friend is going to arrange a meeting between me and the parents," Donna told me, to try to smooth things over. For some reason, she didn't think it would be important to include you, even though you're the one who was treated badly.

Again, I apologize.




First, I must apologize for my absence in the land of blogging. I'm not sure how many of you missed me, but it did feel sort of odd not really having an impetus to write. Though I love to write, I find that when I lack a specific purpose, my wordy rambling just makes me angry - and I'm not the reader.

But, now, for the important stuff...

I like men. It's pretty obvious. At work, I'm often known for looking out for the attractive guys, spotting them before other coworkers. At home, I have photos of Daniel Radcliffe, Jake Gyllenhaal, Elijah Wood, Matthew Morrison (the list goes on) around my room and tacked on a bulletin board. I can't wait for the time when I meet the right guy and am able to start a family and the life that goes with it.

However, just as much as I adore the opposite sex, I love and respect my friends for who they are and the way they live their lives - no matter how different or similar to mine they may be.

In my life, I have been so extremely lucky to cross paths with so many different people. I could never think of a time when I wouldn't have wanted to know a person based on the color of his/her skin, religious background, or sexual preference. A person's character is far more important than the person he or she was born to love (yes - BORN TO LOVE). I credit my family and my friends with shaping me to be the kind of woman that simply doesn't give a crap about stuff that shouldn't matter.

This morning, I saw the cover of the Philadelphia Daily News, and I was horrified.



As I read the story, I continued to feel outrage and sadness. Simply, it just doesn't make sense.

Being in love is not a crime. Discrimination is.

Think about it, someone sold Kate Gosselin a wedding gown. Multiple people sold them to Jennifer Lopez. Look how well that all worked out. Both of these ladies have had children and broken marriages. No one thought to say to J.Lo, "Hey, look, you've tried this before, I'm not gonna help you because it's just not going to work." Just as much as same-sex couples deserve the right to love, marry, and raise families, they should also be afforded to very same opportunity to buy a fucking dress.

I'm sorry. But profanity explains how this makes me feel.

I am certain that there are bridal salons all over the world selling gowns to women whose families do not stand by their decisions to marry the intended GROOMS. BUT, according to a court of law, the union is legal, and - by this Somers Point shop's standard - reason enough to dress the bride-to-be.

More than anything, I don't understand being the kind of person that would deny a woman in love the chance to buy her dream dress and walk down the aisle to whomever waits at the other end (or maybe they'll walk together, who knows). Actually, it's also really dumb because it's a sale, Lady, and times are tough. You're really, really stupid.

There are so many other things going on in this world, and you're worrying about a woman you don't even know marrying another woman you don't know?

At the end of the day, it isn't about the dress, clearly. It's about the sickness of believing that those people that don't live YOUR lifestyle are a lesser citizen, not worthy of the rights of others. It's a horrible, horrible way to live, thinking that you are better than another person for completely bogus reasons.

I usually say that I'll respect others' beliefs as long as they have valid reasons and conviction for feeling such things - and also that they don't force it upon me. In this case, I just can't do it. I can never and will never respect a person that possesses such hatred, allowing him/her to devalue the lives of others.

**My thoughts were far more eloquent in my head... Then I got really angry as I continued writing.**


"Ooo there ain't no other way, baby, I was born this way."

Oh well, what you waiting for?

Do you remember having units of different activities in gym class while growing up? There was volleyball, square dancing (at my school - yes), gymnastics. In gymnastics, we were taught to do the semi-dangerous things with the safety of a mat. Something to cushion the fall.

We learn to ride bikes with helmets, drive cars with seat belts; we always looks for an assurance, some sort of guard, that we'll land safely without fear of injury.



Maybe this explains the fear of jumping without a safety net. Who wants to free fall into the unknown? Seriously - that's scary. Taking chances without any indication of the outcome can absolutely be linked to leaping into complete blackness.

This all makes sense in why world when you realized I hate roller coasters that move through the dark. I need to see where I'm going. Tower of Terror? Yeah, that ride scares the shit out of me.

I have to think of the question posed, offering a multitude of hypothetical scenarios as an answer - what would you do if you knew you could not fail? My list is really, really long. I'd move somewhere without knowing anyone. I'd audition for "American Idol." I'd open a bakery. I'd confess a great love (of which none currently exists). I'd attempt to clean my room... ;-)

All kidding aside... How does a generally very cautious person, like myself, walk to the end of the diving board without really knowing how to dive? Well, at some point, you have to surrender to blind faith - or that kid behind you, yelling at you to jump - worrying simply about being in the moment and not about what happens in 20 minutes, 2 months, or 10 years.

There isn't a safety net large enough to protect against failure, insecurity, or heartbreak. So, knowing you have no chance if you don't step to the edge, you simply have to jump. You're older; you've graduated, and you don't need that mat to learn summersaults. Eventually, you will fly, and your feet will never touch the ground.

"Leave your things behind 'cause it's all going off without you."

Dress me. I'm your mannequin.

I interrupt this usually very serious blog to talk about something that means absolutely nothing at all. I wish to take a brief departure from my cynical and critical ways to bring you a moment of weakness.

I am about to preach the genius of Cher Horowitz.

Don't know her? Take a look:


I hope the image jogged your memory. Though Clueless came out in 1995, some of Cher's most memorable lines still ring true. The modern-day Emma may not have earned her As for book smarts, she was enough streetwise for all the teenage girls in Beverly Hills.

Today, I found myself thinking about her commentary on guys and style: "So, I don't want to be a traitor to my generation and all, but I don't get how guys dress today. I mean, come on; it looks like they just fell out of bed and put on their baggy pants and take their greasy hair - ew - and cover it up with a backwards cap, and, like, we're expected to swoon? I don't think so."



Thankfully, the baggy jeans (like the JNCOs pictured above) have been replaced. Ugh, I used to say you could fit a family of five in one pant leg. They were awful.

However, the same idea still applies. It seems that instead of gigantic jeans and large t-shirts, there is a gravitational pull to unwashed skinny jeans and ratty sweatpants. Although I don't need a guy that grooms like Ryan Seacrest, it never hurt for a to have a little bit of style.

In working with the public, I have seen every look, style, and trend on a variety of people. Some of my coworkers could probably spot my type a mile away. I call him The Prepster.



He's a little badass but perfectly sweet. He could be from London in the 60s or the letterman in the 50s. He's got fitted jeans, but he's no damn hipster. Think... Ralph Lauren meets the (early) Beatles. Maybe a touch of Rockabilly with a 50s 'do - Johnny Depp in Cry-Baby. He ain't no square. It takes some work, but he won't be in front of the mirror longer than me. And I really hope he doesn't want to share a flat iron.

Though I talk about a preference, I'm an equal opportunity ogler. Really. I have a staring problem. But, more importantly, it's not about perfection or even a specific style. It is about taking the time and effort to convey a confident appearance, a put-together image. You don't need to have a closet full of designer clothes or shoes that cost more than your monthly car payment. Actually, you shouldn't. Sometimes, it just takes something clean and a great smile.

Because when it comes down to it, you could have the best look in the world and walk the runways in Paris and Milan. But if what's in your heart is ugly, the clothes can't make the man.

"Don't you want to see these clothes on me? Fashion - put it all on me."


**Please do not take this too seriously. I also welcome the male response.**

The time has come for my dreams to be heard.

In this day and age, I often question why some really great things happen to people that may not deserve it as much as others.

I've watched so many well connected and minimally talented people climb the ladders of success, purely by leapfrogging over the backs of others more qualified. We live in a world where nepotism is commonplace. Sons and daughters of those deemed special get the treatment that should be reserved for their parents. Nephews, friends, neighbors, they all find a way to reap the benefits others have worked to deserve. It's also general practice to reward someone that sells tickets at the box office or garners TV ratings by giving him or her a recording contract. Does anyone remember Joey Lawrence's album (yes, I still have it). Or Lindsay Lohan's awesome hit "Rumors"?

It's pretty upsetting to know that it's just kind of how things go. Many that work so damn hard and want the brass ring more than those special few don't get a chance to see it.



But, once in a while, the universe grants a special person her very own wish.

I'm sure I'm not alone in questioning why crappy things happen to really good people. While I tend to be a person that says "everything happens for a reason," it's usually very hard for me to understand why someone that is generally a great person gets dealt a bad hand. When I think of this particular person, I usually have the same thing to say - she is kindhearted and genuine. Sadly, that can sometimes be a rarity in our world. But she is pure good - working harder for the benefit of others than she has ever done for herself.

Maybe it was the universe's plan for her to move through a lot of junk in order for her to grow stronger and to prove her worth to herself instead of to others. She has taken one hit after another, learning in the process that it is all about how she can become a better person in order to make the world a better place for people she doesn't know and may never know.

For her, it's not about self-satisfaction. Life is about helping someone to have what he doesn't. Her dreams are to make other's dreams a reality, helping people that can't help themselves. She smiles when someone at the end of her hand can smile, and she cheers when her success leads to someone else's.

Her hard work is undeniable, and her dedication is unwavering. She has fought and prayed through every day of her life just hoping for the chance to reach the start of her goal.

I make no secret of my lack of belief in something greater than ourselves. In this case, what I believe in is a single person's desire to be the greatest person she can be without once stepping into the spotlight on her own. It isn't easy to get what we wish for, and a lot of us don't often get the opportunity to have most of our wishes granted. But, for her, it was just one - to have the chance to do better for everyone else.

And I'm so happy she got it.

"There is someone here inside someone I'd thought had died so long ago."

You can't always get what you want.

If you asked me, I could produce a relatively long list of things I wish I could have. I'd probably have to separate them into categories - something like material, emotional, physical... I have a very strong suspicion that I am not alone in this.

Think about it. There are so many things that have been created to help one achieve something he or she wishes were different. Ladies can wear heels if they think they're too short. Someone like Tom Cruise can be shot from a lower angle to appear taller. There's rhinoplasty if you were born with a nose that gives you a lack of confidence. Hair dye. Colored contacts. Spanx - for women AND men. Gambling. Medication.

But what about knowing something is just beyond your reach and you feel like you can't (or maybe WON'T) grab for it? Is there some sort of comfort in being without an object, idea, or person simply because the act of actually having it is that much scarier?

When you have a moment, refer back to my blog about liking the bad boys. Not too long ago, I had a conversation with a friend who took a moment to play therapist. She claimed that my interest in someone to whom I would never be attached really came with the thought of knowing there was zero threat in the attraction. Pretending and dreaming can be fulfilling simply because we know that we are actually released from responsibility or the chance of being hurt.

Wanting and longing - for anything - is constant, and sometimes the release from achievement can almost be a let down. We move on to the next thing, the next goal. We need to be stretching ourselves towards something. In high school, maybe it was a crush or an unrequited attraction. In college, it could've been completion of a difficult course. And, in later life, it becomes about achieving happiness and success, bits of which tend to elude us.

The person, the job, the house, the car, the body... We aim to make changes in the hopes of getting just what we want. But in not being able to touch exactly what we hope for, maybe we will instead discover exactly what it is we need. The journey is the important part, and in working towards whatever it is you hold in your mind or heart, you might stumble across the things that possess the bigger reward.

But it doesn't mean you won't keep going.

"But if you try sometimes, you might just find, you get what you need."

Life is a runaway train you can't wait to jump on.

Sometimes, I like to picture my life in a completely different place.

I'm not saying I don't love home. I moved back, didn't I? But, well, Cherry Hill isn't anything to dream about.

There are moments when I wonder what kind of life I could have if I lived somewhere else. I think about what I would do, where I would go...

I picked up and went somewhere on my own a couple of times. Miami wasn't a good fit, and - ultimately - Los Angeles wasn't either. It's a scary thing to just start your life in another place, and fear can be debilitating. But I do think about it... a lot. I've spent years thinking about the Dixie Chicks' song "Wide Open Spaces," claiming it was a guiding light, but all it did was become a really good karaoke song to add to my repertoire.

I think part of my love of writing has come from the opportunity to create different situations for myself. Although I don't plan on ever writing an autobiography (I mean, I'm not famous YET... hehe), I do love to imagine just a little bit of myself in some of the characters I create. In the world of my own creative writing, I've lived in Florida, NY, LA, Chicago, the list goes on. It's become a way to think about some of things I wish I could actually do. From just riding through a part of Brooklyn or seeing photos of London, I manage to think about all sorts of possibilities.



So why don't we just go? Do something so opposite of what we do now?

I wish I had it in me.

Just for a year, maybe, I'd like to be somewhere else. I've imagined ridiculous scenarios for myself. In my head, I've done everything from wait tables to write columns. I've found some wonderfully British guy - Prince Harry is still available - or walked kids to school. I see other opportunities and wish I could just jump.



Yet, being alone is really scary. I never wanted to join extra-curriculars in high school alone, and I won't dare walk into a gym by myself. If fear didn't exist in my vocabulary, I might be a very different person. Even more than the idea of needing to have an in tact bank account, the thought of being so entirely alone keeps me still.

So who wants to come with me? Paris? London? Brooklyn? I am currently accepting applications for a partner-in-crime.

"They say the first time it won't ever last. But that didn't stop me."

Keep it positive... As you slap her to the floor!

I wonder if the key to life is positivity. I mean, there are loads of self-help people out there that make big bucks from teaching people how to focus their thoughts on positive energy. It can't ALL be crap.

Sometimes I get jealous of people that are able to channel their energy into optimism as opposed to thinking about half-empty glasses.



It is no secret that I was given the genes of a cynic. To prove it, I once started saying that the glass was half full or half empty depending on whether or not you were drinking or pouring. I looked at the situation a little too closely. I don't know when it all started, but I know we don't come into this world preaching negativity. At some point, I obviously lost the ability to look through rose-colored lenses.

What's sort of odd is that I'm a pessimist selectively (sort of like how I have what my high school friends called selective blushing - there is a line on the left side of my face that stays white when I blush). When it comes to believing in my friends or hoping for their success, I never seem to lack words of encouragement or actions of assistance. A couple weeks ago, I was trying to connect a friend with a job, and she told me that I put positive out into the universe. What shocked me was that in comparison to this particular friend, my usual positivity rating is about a 3 on a scale of 1 to 10. This particular friend is easily a 9 (often a 10).

Don't confuse any of this with a lack of belief in certain abilities I gratefully possess. I've honed the skill of the written word, and I tend to think I'm capable of a handful of things. Yet, I've managed to confuse being awfully down in the dumps with the idea of reality. While trying to be realistic and honest with myself, I have somehow turned into a person that completely casts aside the art of the possible. I have viewed my own future as impossible and everything short of a fairy tale.

It's really sad to know that you can be (and are) your own worst enemy. I have created roadblocks for myself and shot down chances of opportunity purely because I saw the potential BAD without ever acknowledging a speck of GOOD.

Growing past being a cynic is tough. I can tell myself every which way, until the end of time, that I am the only thing standing in my way. But change doesn't come easily, especially when we've spent so many years becoming ourselves.

"Wipe your tears; it's not big thing."

Say everybody's changing, and I don't know why.

If you've read any of my entries up to this point, you probably understand the value I put on friendship (see my last entry). Without meaning to, I also seem to focus a lot of attention on the process of growing up... sort of like Meredith Grey, back in the really good, first days of "Grey's Anatomy." It should come as no surprise to any person, my age or older, that both friendship and growing up are very closely linked. At least they are for me.

Often, our friends help to punctuate moments as years pass. We share a number of coming-of-age rites of passage with the people were learn to love and trust in platonic relationships. Prom, graduation, spring break (yeah, not me... but I'm sure for many of you this applies). It's rare that our photo memories don't feature others. I don't know about you, but I don't display self-portaits from proud moments and fun experiences. In those images, I'm always surrounded by friends. Just in front of me, I have a few tacked to my bulletin board: meeting the Jonas Brothers, silly impromptu group photo shoots, old fashioned photos at the beach. I think of each event and smile.

But so many of us change as we get older. It's necessary, right? Even though some of us hold onto valuable core beliefs, it's usually the life experiences that shape us, creating a reformed and informed identity. I hope that most people don't wish to remain that very same person that wrote a sixth grade research paper... mine was on the civil rights movement.

Yet, if we know all of this, how come it's still so sad when we somehow manage to outgrow friends from our past?

Truly, I don't believe it's something to classify as good or bad. It's normal, if you want to call it anything. Thinking about my own set of friends, those that I consider the people I'm closest to in my life, I probably have three good friends from college, two from high school, maybe one from middle school, and bordering one remaining from elementary school. Sure, I still keep in touch with more people than that, especially because we all know how to keep tabs on each other thanks to social networking. Along the way, as we grew into ourselves, we also grew away from each other. Miles can no longer be an excuse when cell phones and Facebook are rarely less than inches away. What I've noticed is that quite a few of my best friends have entered my life post the pivotal "GROWING UP" stages. Though the memories remain, the ties with the old crews start to sever, and we surround ourselves with the people that share in many of the things we've become.

As time goes on, our lives get busier. Our schedules become so packed that we fill the open space with those that have grown along similar paths. Just the same, the ones we used to walk alongside have joined forces with others. We may still pick up the phone occasionally or send an e-mail on a holiday, but we can't always hold ourselves responsible for moving on. Often, it's just an undeniable fact of life. Change is okay. And even if we wanted to, there's nothing we can do to get it to stop.

"But everybody's changing, and I don't feel the same."

When it hasn't been your day, your week, your month...

No one WANTS to be unhappy. I know I shouldn't generalize, but I can't imagine a large portion of the population waking up in the morning saying, "How can I make my day worse than yesterday?" Even The Dark Lord in Harry Potter aimed for satisfaction within evil and terror. He didn't want to make HIS day crappy... just everyone else's.



So how do we become happy? How do we push through a day with a smile?

My answer is simple: surround yourself with the best people you can find. It's not secret that misery loves company, but no one really ever tells you that happiness does too.

When I was a freshman in college at the University of Miami, I was pretty miserable from the first day, and my parents hadn't even left yet. I was often upset just from being so far away from home and a lack of communication with some of my close friends. Because I was the only one to really go a distance to school, I expected my friends to want a vacation. I was 15 minutes from the beach, and I had a roommate that didn't mind people visiting. Only, none of my friends ever made the trip. I very distinctly remember asking one of the girls about it.

"How come no one has ever tried to come here," I asked her.
"Well, you're really unhappy there. Do you think any of us want to see you like that," she asked in return.

Back then, my response was something about how I'd be happier if people made the effort. While I still, in part, think that's true, I now realize that I was so damn crabby all the time that I simply wasn't fun to be around, and it made everyone else sad. I was Debbie Downer.



Throughout my life, I've juggled different groups of friends, moving back and forth, finding myself in the group that I needed at the time. After being in high school and college, I know that your frame of mind can absolutely attract a different kind of person. If you're happy and you aim for the best, you find yourself surrounded by like-minded people. The opposite is true as well. You'll just end up down in the dumps.

Look, we all have our shitty days. Every single person reading this knows I'm right (and modest, ha). Sometimes we want a partner in crime to commiserate with, and the best friends know how to do just that but can also lift you up at the end of the conversation.





"Yes, it sucks. Life is shit... But tomorrow is a new day."

I have written about my friends before, singing their praises and thanking them for what they've brought into my life. This week in particular, I was given the opportunity to spend some time with a handful of them, and I truly realized how much I appreciate the kind of people I have surrounded myself with. In my friends I find different sources of inspiration, support, and encouragement. I can only hope I bring the same to them.



Whether one is a teacher, a volunteer, a student, or a professional... It doesn't matter. They know what to do when I need to laugh, and they know when to let me cry (and then tell me to shut up). They send me messages of kindness and cards of well wishes. Some inspire when they aren't even trying, and some speak the truth with unbridled honesty.

The best part is that they don't have to TRY to be these people. This is my group of friends, and I love them all dearly.

Thank you.



"I'll be there for you 'cause you're there for me too."


Just a note - if you aren't in a photo, it means nada. If you are READING this, you are included in it.

Makeup's all off. Who am I?

In growing up, we begin to learn things about ourselves. This isn't a process that gets realized overnight, and it's not something we can make sense of at the time. Also important - we don't stop noticing these things after high school or college. It's a continuation down a path of self-discovery that shows itself when we're faced with different circumstances.

We don't always like what we see.

In elementary and middle school, I became the kid that took charge of group projects, always taking on the brunt of the academic work, for fear we'd get something less than an "A" grade. In high school, when all of my friends were licensed drivers, I was frequently that one that opted to drive for movie or dinner nights. In college, I became extremely independent when it came to studying. I very rarely wanted to be part of a study group, and I certainly almost never missed a class. My studies were my responsibility, no one else's. During my time in LA, I became extremely concerned with punctuality, adding names of friends to a list of people that had no respect for anyone's time but their own.

And now, well, now I've started to piece it all together. All of these elements of my personality signify a refusal to give up control as well as a penchant for being in charge of situations.

I would have to say this pretty much explains why I've never been drunk or had any desire to experiment with recreational drugs. I don't care to know what it feels like to be out of control or without a strong grasp on my personal presentation. I dislike the idea of an uncertain future just as much as I hate being subjected to someone's bad driving skills. Situations in which I cannot take the reigns and determine my own future are horrifying.

Yes. This means I may just be some form of high-maintenance. Not in the way that I take two hours to get ready to go out (I don't) or that I need 15 products on my face before walking into a public place (absolutely not). But I am demanding in a way that sometimes means "If I don't know how this is going to end, I'd rather just stay home."

I didn't like being a subordinate in an office job, and I ultimately got frustrated with cyclical tasks that were part of the routine. Though I was responsible for doing certain things on my own, at the end of the day, what I was doing didn't have any effect on my life. After a period of time, it was only when I was given a job that was solely my own that I truly felt I could do something that had a significant outcome. I was in a management position, handing out responsibilities and rules. I finally felt happy and at home.

Wanting to be in control isn't something I'm proud of. It inhibits me from letting go, at the very definition of the word, and it creates a negative air that I am happy to most often conceal. Though this aspect of my personality means I'm likely to get a job done successfully (even if I hate it), and that I will present myself in a manner of which I'm capable of upholding, it's not always a pleasant feeling.

For someone like me, holding onto control is actually an amalgamation of different qualities in one's being. I recognize that it's part selfishness - which upsets me, part stubbornness, and - to a great extent - part insecurity. Letting go means we don't know where something may take us. And for an insecure person, the idea of not knowing what may happen is a lot more frightening than knowing what will.

"My attraction paralyzes me. No courage to show my true colors that exist."

When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep. Stuck in reverse.

Dictionary.com defines escapism as the avoidance of reality by absorption of the mind in entertainment or in an imaginative situation, activity, etc.

To some degree or another, we all find ways to escape from reality. It's kind of like that Broadway musical, Stop The World, I Want To Get Off. I mean, not completely because that plot really has to do with a womanizer, of sorts. But the title alone suggests the idea of needing everything to be put on hold for just a moment. We need to pause our lives and find something to erase a disappointing thought, time of heartbreak, or maybe just a really bad day.

A lot of people use movies to get away. For two hours, we can sit in a dark theater and be completely absorbed in someone else's situation... or Leonardo DiCaprio's eyes? Maybe that's just me (and millions of other people I don't know). Outside the theater, something completely drastic could be happening, and we'd never know. Have you ever gone to a movie around 3:30 and walked out to an entirely dark sky? One that was bright and sunny when you bought your ticket? It's weird. It is, however, also a strange confirmation that life goes on while you take a little bit of time to forget it's there. I guess it's not that we necessarily need life to stop; we just need a break.

Me? Well, I have a few things. Sometimes, I find a scrapbook project that is all-consuming. I can't split it up over days or months, like a lot of scrappers do. Provided I have all the necessities, I will sit down for hours, surrounded by papers, pictures, and stickers. There's a good chance chronicling a year in the life may take me one day to complete.

I could also watch marathons of "Gilmore Girls" or "Beverly Hills: 90210." I could work on a crossword puzzle that I will never complete.

Yet, I would have to say that my most successful mode of escapism comes in the form of baking.



Give me the supplies - flour, sugar, butter - and I can leave my thoughts for hours. I don't need to like what I'm making; I don't even need to eat it. In a couple hour's time, I'll have something that smells great and hopefully tastes better. Yes, the process is for me. The methodical organization that goes into a proper result takes concentration and thought, everything that guarantees I won't, for a second, have to worry about what was bothering me before I turned on the mixer. But the result might be the very best part. Just as I love giving presents to people and waiting for their reactions, I equally enjoy someone smiling over a delicious dessert they wouldn't have had otherwise.

All this being said... I also write blog entries to get everything out. I have now sufficiently been taken away from my frosting for too long. Another day, another cupcake...

"Lights will guide you home and ignite your bones. And I will try to fix you."

Forgive, sounds good. Forget, I'm not sure I could.

I'm gonna go ahead and be pretty up front and honest here.

I want to tell you about some things I'm good at. Ready?

I'm pretty good at waking up as soon as my alarm clock goes off (these days, it plays Jonas Brothers' "Hello, Beautiful). I excel at putting my laundry in the wash and leaving it there once it's done for at least a few hours - maybe even a full day. I also do this really awesome thing where I let magazines pile up on my floor in the hopes of needing them for a future collage project. Oh, and, um, I can almost always guess the price of an item in Gap before it goes on sale.

Sometimes, if I'm lucky, I'm also really, really good at holding a grudge - if I want to.

This isn't always the case. I've had arguments with people that I still consider good friends. I've let crappy things go, and I'm thankful a lot of them have done the same for me. We all make mistakes, and, as we grow up, we learn to let memories of the bad stuff wash away. But every once in a while, there can be something unpleasant that sticks with you - an instance you can't forget, a heartbreaking moment that will forever sting.

I realized yesterday that there can absolutely be people that will always hold a place of significance in your life. And I'm not talking about a loved one that is always there for you. This person (or maybe even a few people) will constantly bring up a bit of hatred that you've pushed deep inside. No matter how much time passes, you can never move away from the hatred you feel. If the idea of hate is too strong for you, maybe there's just a severe dislike or a wound that hasn't healed. Perhaps it's a person that never returned amorous feelings. Maybe it's someone that called you out when you were wrong.

Either way, it doesn't matter. It sticks because you associate this person with something important in your life. Hurt. Jealousy. Anger. Any of it. All of it.

When you can't get rid of the grudge, you carry around a huge weight inside. For me, it sits in my heart, and until someone fantastic shows up with talents great enough to erase all the ugly, I will forever be good at holding onto the grudges I have selectively created.

"I'm still mad as hell, and I don't have time to go round and round and round."

I'm not a princess. This ain't a fairytale.

It is often said that chivalry is dead.

The idea of a gallant knight stepping up to the plate for his fair maiden simply doesn't exist the way it (supposedly) used to. I wonder, if at some point, men stopped teaching their young sons about opening doors and pulling out chairs. Well, maybe it was their moms that stopped telling them. I'm not entirely sure it was men that perpetuated these habits to begin with. I mean... really? Be honest - as a woman, how many times has a man walked on the outside of the sidewalk, keeping you away from the traffic of the street? If you recognize this behavior as normal, you're probably one of few.

On first dates, we like and expect to be greeted at the door. We may even anticipate not having to pay. Though, if you're like me, you're always prepared to pay at least half of the check. There is a long list of archaic behaviors and standards ladies hope for men to exhibit in courtship. We want to be offered a jacket when it's cold. We like to be cared for when we're sick.

But maybe most importantly, we need to be treated as equals.

At this point, I bring up the point of a very fine line between a man being chivalrous and being downright overbearing. Yes, I'm sorry, I'm a woman. I am picky, and I realize that I'm blurring the issue. Get over it. I want what I want.

So when exactly does that sweet behavior becoming annoying, assuming a woman can't properly perform daily actions or showcase independent qualities? Though not every woman is as intelligent as her counterpart (I'll give you that, guys), many are evenly matched, while some have the upper hand. And while it shouldn't be an issue of a man being smarter than a woman, most of us like to show and even prove that we can function without men (in most situations, ha)... though we may not always want to.

Yesterday at work, I overheard a young man - mid 20s - ordering with his server. After ordering for himself, he proceeded to place an order for the young woman that was accompanying him. Instantly, I was filled with a feeling of horror and disgust. Was she incapable of speaking (she was not; I heard her)? Could she not read the menu well enough to identify her choices (possibly)? Or was it simply that she could not think for herself and needed her apparently honorable guy to do the work? Trust me, I know him. He's far from honorable. A showoff is more like it.

Anyway, when I realized he had ordered for her, I just kept thinking about one of my favorite movies, Because I Said So. In this movie, Mandy Moore's character begins dating two different guys, one being very much a Type A personality. On their first date, he orders everything before they even arrive at the restaurant, freeing Moore of the responsibility to think for herself. Though she is seemingly relieved at first, as we get to know her character, we learn this isn't her at all. In a fight near the end of the movie, Moore yells at him, "Who wants a girl that doesn't think?"



I can promise you, most women with functioning brains, want to think for themselves. They want to know their words are considered. However, at the same time, they want the charm and respectfulness that come with the idea of Prince Charming. It's difficult to except, guys. I know. It kind of means you run the risk of always being on the wrong track.

But, here's some good news. I'm certain that spontaneously presenting us with flowers or occasionally making dinner reservations as a surprise won't be turned down or disliked. We just want a little bit of the White Knight with some David Silver mixed in. You can save us sometimes... just not every time.

"And it's too late for you and your white horse to catch me now."

Mistaken, always second guessing, underestimated.

Great expectations can be difficult to meet.

Do you strive for something that's likely unattainable? Do you hope for smooth sailing?

I'm not talking about dreams or goals... I'm not trying to put a damper on reaching for the stars or landing upon the moon. I do believe that hard work leads to success and achievement. What I don't believe in is an end result of perfection. It's difficult and more often impossible.

People are flawed; life is flawed. I would venture to say that your to-do list is almost never completed by a set date or time or that your schedule rarely follows every booked appointment. I'm the kind of person that plans and doesn't really act spontaneously or allow for roadblocks or bumps along the way, but I try to recognize that getting to the end of the day being a completely perfect person is just about as difficult as eating just one chip from a bag of Utz with ridges or turning off TLC's "My Strange Addiction." I don't know about you, but I am incapable of doing either.

The hard part is knowing that it's 100% okay to make a mistake or misstep.

That's something I'm not very good at.

I remember when I was first learning the elements of my job at "ET." I was deathly afraid of making a mistake on a petty cash report. For one, it was sort of a pain in the ass to go back and fix everything. But, more importantly, I didn't want my boss to know I had messed up a little bit. My friend who was teaching me how to compile the reports said to me, "You know, it's okay to make a mistake every once in a while. It shows her that you're human. Otherwise you'd be a robot."



No matter how much I tried to abide by that rule, I never got over typing a number correctly or accidentally calculating an amount incorrectly. It killed me every time I'd get one of my reports back with my boss's little purple pen corrections. Being wrong stinks, and I'm pretty much deathly afraid of being a disappointment or of metaphorically falling down when someone else can see (although, who wants to fall down at all?).

I know not everyone suffers from searching for perfection. While I'm not entirely happy about the fact that I look for only the best in myself and those that surround me, I do think it's better than being lackadaisical (good word - right?) about getting to through the day. No one pushed me to get As, and no one had to tell me to finish my homework or make flashcards. Clean my room? Empty the dishwasher? Sure. But strive for greatness? Nope... I did that to myself.

So how can we learn to let ourselves off the hook? When and how can we stop beating ourselves up for something that is entirely normal? My hair might be out of place, and my clothes might be on the floor, so it's obvious I can't be ON all the time. Only when it comes to the important stuff, I'm truly a bit of a pain in the butt. I expect just as much from you as I do from myself.

Maybe it's in breathing exercises or meditation... Maybe it's simply from growing up and experiencing life that we can become more accepting of getting as close as we'll ever be. Perfect shouldn't be a goal, but for some it will always be a guiding factor, whether or not it's where you end up at the end of the journey.

"Pretty pretty please, don't you ever ever feel like you're less than fuckin' perfect."


(Sorry it's not a real video. The song's new, and I couldn't find one.)