My Dirty Little Secret

I used to eat whatever I wanted. When I saw cupcakes I drooled on sight and forgave any misdeed you had done to me if you gave me a brownie. I ate frosting straight from the container. And I didn’t always use a spoon. I have eaten an entire box of poptarts in one sitting. I once took a log of chocolate chip cookie dough, cut it in 2 and handed half to Lauren, where we proceeded to eat it like a sandwich sub. Such glorious memories.
Now I eat much healthier (and so does Lauren). I limit my sweets to 1 night a week, that’s our deal- one “bad” eating out meal a week, and one dessert a week. Sometimes I’m a little lenient on what counts as “a” dessert, but for the most part I eat much better than I used to, and it shows.
But I still love sweets. I am the soul of Mrs. Claus trapped in a size 6 body. And my craving for sweets, my lust for baked goods is still strong. I had to find away to scratch my frosting itch without causing serious damage to my thighs. I tried baking for other people, but I found that horribly unsatisfying. I tried convincing myself that I didn’t like candy because of the chemicals and dyes. My stomach didn’t listen. I tried getting 100 calorie packs of my favorite snack foods to treat myself a little bit. They tasted like cardboard. I was seriously contemplating just letting it all go ala Oprah when I found my answer. FOOD PORN.
The food network has these cooking shows where they show you in close-up, buttery rich detail all the yummy goods they’re making. And Paula’s Home Cooking happens to coincide with my Wednesday evening gym time. I love Paula. She is one of my heros. She’s Southern and plump, and she says things like, “Now y’all need to add just a lil bit of butta” while adding an entire stick of lard to her concoction. She tried everything she makes, and you can see her get all excited to taste it. And she takes real bites. Multiple ones. Big bites. I love you Paula…
I usually don’t watch these shows because they make me want to go into the kitchen to find a snack. But If I watch them while I’m on the stepmill, I can’t get to a package of cookies. And while I’m drooling over Paula’s buttery toffee bars, the other gym goers just think it's sweat dripping off my chin.
I know some people may think it is sadistic to look at food while exercising, but I don’t think so. It’s like guys who look at porn. They know they can’t have it, but looking at it is exciting enough to keep them coming back for more. Same for me and my Paula. There’s something about watching her make fresh whipped cream at 300 calories a spoonful while I’m huffing it on the elliptical that just makes me sing on the inside.
Gotta run now. Its Thursday- almost the weekend and that mean’s its time for me to start planning what I want for dessert this week…

Pictures!!!

Check out Shannon's space under my blogs- she did an engagement shoot for Kyle and I on Sunday and also took some old fashioned shots of yours truly. I think she did a great job if anyone's looking for a photographer!!

My Fiance Rocks

It was cold and yucky and raining today and not only did Ky drive me into work so I could sleep late and not get wet on the walk from the parking garage, but he also came and took me to lunch when I called him and said I was hungry and didn't want my yogurt. Thanks for being so great, for making me laugh and for booking our awesome flights for the honeymoon!!! I'm a lucky girl.

All we have is beans

So I'm out with Kyle and Shannon last night when we decided to stop at Taco Bell (don't worry Shan, the Boy doesn't read this, so you're safe... wouldn't want a repeat of the GummiWorm episode). So we pull up to the drive through window, salivary glands in overdrive. The guy mumbles something that sounds like, " Ali maverick Jeans." "What?" we yelled. " Ali maverick JEANS!" He repeats. We looked at each other like, what is he saying? Is John McCain campaign in his Levi's at Taco Bell? What is going on? So we pull up to the window and the fast food guy leans out and says, " All we have is beans." We looked at him dumbfounded. And I'm thinking a million things at once: 'What do you mean all you have is beans? You're a major fast food chain, don't you plan for this sort of thing? And your Taco Bell for crying out loud- we know the meat isn't Grade A, you get whatever Alpo has left over so get to Costo and get a few cases and let's get this show on the road!I'm fine with that, I don't want to know what the nutritional value/ likelyhood of food poisoning is when I eat fast food, I just know that it tastes good to me. And that's not even a grammatically correct sentence!' But I didn't say any of that.
We drove away without complaining. There were people in there eating too. And I wanted to know- were they just eating beans? Were we being punked? Where were the cameras? Can I just get a bean burrito? It was shocking and sad. So we went to Arby's.

The Heart of the Matter

Engagement rings are a topic of obsession among 23-35 year old females. Girls who don't have them want them, and girls who get them compare theirs to everyone else. Advertisers do a FANTASTIC job of making us think that the size/cost of the ring is directly proportionate to the amount of love/loyalty the giver possesses.
Let me clue everyone in on a little secret. The engagement ring is just a piece of jewelry Like any ring, it gets scratched, needs to be cleaned and will feel uncomfortable when you're bloated. It can get lost or misplaced or damaged like anything else you own.
So then why do we make such a big deal over it? Why is it the Holy Grail of jewelry? Shouldn't the guy's sense of humor count for more than the carat weight? Shouldn't the way you feel when he holds you in his arms mean more to you than whether the setting is platinum or gold?
And why do we feel entitled to expect men to spend thousands and thousands of dollars on us when we buy nothing for them in return? If the custom was that the girl got a ring as an engagement gift and the boy got a car, would YOU be able to spring for a Porsche? My guess is not. I think we'd see a lot of Hondas on the road. But a girl with a Toyota of a ring will be embarrassed by it.
I don't think we shouldn't have rings. After all, what girl doesn't love to feel spoiled and special? I for one have a beautiful sparkler of a ring. And every time I look at it I feel like a princess. And that's great. But I guess what I'm trying to say is that long after the silver finish on your ring goes dull, it's the marriage that will matter. My grandparents had 7 kids, survived hard times and are have been married for decades. My parents still flirt and play fight each other. And my other Grandma still misses her late husband, and when she says his name you can hear in her voice how much she still loves him. That's the stuff I picture in my head when I think about marriage. And for the life of me I can't tell you what any of their rings look like.

It's stuck in my head...

(sings) " 1-2-3-4, Come on baby, say you love me 5-6-7 times,
8-9-10-11, I'm just gonna keep on counting until you are mine..."

Reason # 461 Why I'm Not Ready to be a Parent

I'm not really a cat person, but when I broke up with my ex and he moved out I was lonely so I decided to get something to keep me company and my apartment wouldn't let me have a dog. (technically I wasn't supposed to have a cat either, but they're a lot easier to hide and 2 other people in the building had them too so I figure it was safe.) I went to the animal shelter and found a black & white kitten who was the runt of his litter. One eye was completely milky white- the product of a bad infection from when he and his littermates where found abandoned under a porch. I knew there was a chance his eye would never heal, but when all the other kittens wanted to run around the room, this guy just wanted to look up at me. When I tried to look at any other kittens below him, he would reach out and tap my ponytail as if to say " Hey you, I'm right here, pick me, I'm the one!" I knew what his fate would likely be if I didn't rescue him, and I figured this was a major good deed that would help counteract my college misdeeds (except for that party the night we won GreekWeek, when I die I have some definite explaining to do...) So I took him home and named him Riley James.
His eye cleared up, but he's an odd cat. He's cuddly like a dog- always wants to be in your arms or laying across your chest. He stalks all forms of plantlife and attacks it- trees, plants, flowers have all perished from his claws.He cries when left alone and has no censor when it comes to food- he will literally eat a 20 lb bag of kibble if I let him. Which brings us to last night.
Riley's pretty good at not eating things he shouldn't. He loves the plastic from ice cream cartons, bread ties and grape stems. He bats them around like mad, but never eats them. So last night when he was eyeing a my Congratulations on Passing the Bar helium balloon, I decided to let him have some fun. Within seconds he had bitten through the string and the balloon floated to the ceiling. We thought he would just play with the string then. Instead, that little Fatty ATE it. He gulped it down like a gummi worm. It happened so fast we didn't realize what he was doing until it was over. And then, like any mother would do, I started to panic.
First, he threw up twice (and bless his little heart he stayed on the tile and not the carpet) but there was no ribbon. Frantic, I consulted the Internet where I was greeted with horror stories of cats dying or needing emergency surgery when ribbons get twisted in their intestines. The web suggested we try to make him throw it up before his body tried to digest it, which we attempted to do in a variety of ways: first we gave him 1 and 1/4 teaspoon of hydrogen peroxide, which was supposed to be a "sure bet" to make him sick. Well he definitely didn't feel great, but no dice. Next, I gave him an entire can of wet food (which he never gets) hoping to make him sick. He ate every single last morsel like a champ and then just sprawled out with a belly ache. But still no ribbon. Desperate, Kyle started holding him upside down and patting his tummy, kinda like you burp a baby. He purrrrrrrred the entire time. No ribbon.
He slept with us all night, just in case, but when I woke up this morning he was completely normal and cuddly. Hopefully he just passes it and he'll be fine, but I guess it's good to know that if they ever do Fear Factor: Pet Edition, Riley could kick all the other cat's butts!

Where am I registered?

Everyone keeps asking me where we’re registered for the wedding, so I thought I should explain the registry situation.
You see people, I’m clumsy. I know people reading this will say, “But you can dance!” To which I say, “Why thank you!” But believe me, that’s about rhythm, which is totally different. I have absolutely no grace. It’s hard for me to admit it but I’m not a delicate little flower that waits to be admired, but I’m not. I’m more like a giant sunflower.
I walk into things. Walls, furniture, people. While walking around like a normal person I place my life and limbs at serious risk. I have at any given moment at least 2 bruises of unknown origin on my body. Case in point, I currently have a burn on my right knuckle from the oven last week, a red mark the size of a half dollar on my chest that I hope is a bruise, and a bump on my hairline from hitting bottom of the cabinet this morning.
I break, on average, 2 things a month. And that’s just in the kitchen. I don’t know how exactly, they just break! When Kyle moved in with me in June he brought with him 6 pretty blue glasses. Five months later only 2 remain, and that’s mainly because Kyle won’t let me use them anymore unless it’s a special occasion. We tried counteracting my destruction by getting plastic things in fun bright colors instead. However, I quickly learned that plastic things melt when confronted with hot frying pans or are too close to the stove.
My clumsiness doesn’t just affect me. Just last week I broke a juice glass at my mom’s while doing the dishes after which her own clumsiness intervened. She got cut on the glass through the garbage bag and had to get stitched up by my sister (it appears the lack of grace is hereditary).
This brings me to the registry. Traditionally couples register for nice pretty things to fill their new home with. Things like fancy china for formal dinners and wineglasses. Expensive sheets with high threadcounts and crystal cut vases to hold the flowers your news husband is supposed to bring home regularly. And that’s great for them. I love to peruse the registries of my friends to see what fun things they’re getting. But I can’t join them. For obvious reasons, the china is a BAD idea. My cat views all new things as potential toys, especially flowers, so vases and decorative items would likely face the wrath of Riley. And while high threadcount sheets sound divine, Kyle loves to make corners with sheets, something that can only be done with stiff, average Joe cotton bedclothes. Plus, we already combined 2 apartments when we moved in together, so we have everything we need already. A full registry would result in us just throwing out perfectly good stuff to replace it with new stuff and we just don’t see the sense in that. (We have, however, registered for our honeymoon in Disney which I think is way cool!)
But for those of you who love to satisfy their voyeuristic needs by looking at other people’s registries, I’ll post a list of things that I don’t currently own that I want and would put on a traditional registry if we were to have one. This way I can look back and say I had the “experience” of creating a registry:
1. A loaf pan to make banana bread. (it’s the only baking things I somehow don’t have)
2. A college picture frame for our wall (so we can be vain and look at pictures of ourselves)
3. An apron (so I can fulfill my fantasy of being a 1950s housewife)
4. A vacuum (because using the hose attachment on my hands and knees around the apartment is getting old. And painful)
5. Just married flip flops (Just because!)
6. Bandaids.

Forest of Tears

So tonight we're going to the Forest of Fear. It's rated as the #3 Scariest Haunted House in the US. It has a monster, unrated, 26 room haunted house and scary people chasing you through the woods. My parents, Aunt, cousins & Fiance are all pumped up to go- they've been talking about it for weeks. I've been talking about it too, as in screaming-in-the-dead-of-the-night-in-terror talking about it. I HATE scary things. I know some people love being scared. Some call those people adventurous. I call them CRAZY (or Lauren). Why would you want to be terrified? Chased? Jumped out at? And they want us to PAy for this?
And what's worse, I let myself get dragged to these things year after year. And every year, THEY KNOW. The monsters smell the fear coming off of me in waves and they TARGET me! All the warning signs claim "The Actors will Not touch you". So you think, oh, good, I'll just look at them, and politelyand say, "yikes", then move merrily along my way... Yeah right. It's true, they don't touch you, but what the signs DON'T say is that the actors will come so far into your personal space you can see whether or not they need a Biore strip.
Last year we went to the haunted Graveyard. Every room we entered, the actors would look at the group of us, and move towards me like a magnet. There was one "butcher" in particular, with blood stains all over his smock and a giant ax who kept asking me if I wanted him to "Trim off a few pounds". Jerk.
I know they're actors, and that its not real. But WHAT IF people. What if some sick sick person decided to get a job at this place- its the perfect cover! You can hack someone to death in front of a crowd of people and they'll just cheer you on and think that the special effects are awesome. It could happen! Or what if I get so scared I run, and I run into something and trip and fall on a branch (let's face it, it wouldn't be the first time I've fallen in the woods, right Kappas?) Or if they forget to take the blade out of the chainsaw? I've seen CSI, there are like a trillion ways to die in freak accidents!
So that's where I'll be tonight.At the Forest of Fear, dragging my feet, sobbing and using my 12 year old cousin as a shield. If I have no voice on Monday, you'll know why. If I live that long...

Religion 2.0

Kyle and I have been saying for months that we should start going to church on Sundays, but we lately we’ve been worshipping the gym instead. So while in Rochester this weekend we decided to join his mom and sister to make a good impression (on them and God). I am happy to report that nothing has changed in Church- the songs and format are exactly the same. I remembered everything like it was yesterday, which was both comforting in its familiarity and odd (I can’t remember what I ate for breakfast 2 days ago but I still remember the Apostle’s Creed?)
We did notice one change however, and that is this- God has gone high tech. We found this out when the priest made an announcement at the end of mass that “DVDs explaining the ceremony of the mass were now available for $5.00”. I was shocked. The Catholic Church doesn’t have DVDs! It has stuffy smelling books with teeny tiny print and Latin words that no one understands but reads anyway!
But Kyle pointed out that God created the world, which means that he is the original high tech guru, not Bill Gates as I had previously thought, so it only makes sense that Church is going high tech. We thought it out and it really makes sense when you think about it. We’re getting more like God all the time. God is Omnipresent, and so is everyone else with a buddy list- you can always be online and accessible. Even if you have an away message up, people can still leave you message for when you get back to your computer. Just like you can pray to God and he may be there, and get the prayer and get right on it, or it may just go to his away message and he’ll get it later.
We figured God’s Screen name would be ‘Almighty 1’ and that when he wasn’t there his away message would simply say “Damning”. The Pope would be in his own separate group (#1 Fan) with the rest of us organized into groups of: Believers, Nonbelievers and The Warriors (that’s where Lucifer is).
At first I thought this was great sacrilege, but Kyle assured me that it’s okay to be funny. He thinks God’s got a sense of humor and would appreciate the fact that we’re thinking about him at all, even if it is to decide whether or not he would use the invisibility feature to avoid the Dali Lama when he doesn’t feel like talking.

Columbus discovered America, I discovered Rochester

What a whirlwind of a weekend. I found out that I passed the bar exam, drove the cat to my Mom's, cleaned up sick-on-himself cat, pestered my sister into going to the store, made brownies, drove back home, packed up the car and drove to Rochester. That was just Friday! We spent the weekend with Kyle's family and I had a great time. I went to my future sister in law's baby shower, to church with his mom and sister and our nephews, pumpkin picking, out to eat with his dad and stepmom and Grams. It was good times.
Some highlights: Getting to see Kyle's elementary school, church, and his playground.
His 3 year old nephew yelling, "Draw his Boobies!" during Church
Linda's chocolate chip cookies.
Funny story from the trip- Kyle's very active and healthy 82 year old grandma picked the place where we were going to eat Saturday night. No one had been there before, but she was planning to go to lunch there with her bridge group so she wanted to try it. It's called Tastology and Kyle and I were excited because they brag about the fact that everything on the menu is 500 calories or less. We thought this would be great- we'd get to eat some really yummy but healthy food. The decor was sleek, it reminded me of IKEA- all the walls were painted a different color, lots of tall green shoots and light colored wood. Some of our party were a bit miffed that the silverware was laid directly on the table, but I was open to new ideas.
So we order, and we all ordered the same thing- the stuffed chicken (this should have clued us in, when 6 people all find just one thing on the menu appetizing, it's probably not a good sign). The salads came out first. A teacup sized bowl with a few lettuce leafs and a drizzle of dressing. They looked tiny and sad, but Kyle and I had ordered soup instead. The soup was sweet potato with orange juice and a drizzle of yogurt. It was yummy, but small. But things were still hopeful. We all thought maybe the place was just modern so the portions sizes were small, but the food quality would be great.
But then the chicken arrived. 1/2 of a plain boiled red potato mushed up, 3 spears of cold asparagus and 4 round pieces of chicken with about a half of a spinach leaf each in the center. The chicken was so dry you could see wrinkles on the outside. It got really really quiet at the table. Within minutes everyone's plate was completely clean (except for mine, because on my first bite of chicken I encountered a hard, unidentifiable black thing and it made me give the other 3 pieces of chicken to Kyle). Kyle's Grandma, bless her, kept saying how yummy it was and how big the portions were. No one wanted to ruin her mood so we pretended to agree. Oh, and did I mention there was a political fundraiser going on with live guitar music so to hear each other talk we had to yell? Yeah, not the best times.I could tell his Dad was mad about it, but they're rally polite people so no one said anything- had we been out with my family there I think it may have ended differently. As we left I could see Cheesecake Factory across the street and I swear the moment I saw it my stomach started grumbling.

When we got home, Kyle and I made an excuse to leave and went out to get actual food (cheesecake, obviously :) So the moral of the story kids, is that you CAN get a meal out for under 500 calories, just don't expect to be full afterwards.

Bar Results

I PASSED!!!! AHHHHHH!!!

ABCs of Me

A- Attached or Single? attached to Kyle Zander. He's cute. And cuddly. And has great arms :)
B-Best Friend? Kyle and Ms. Lauren Victoria Blumenfeld since the 2nd day of high school.
C-Cake or pie? Cake. chocolate. with fudge frosting. and lots of layers. and chocolate chips. mmmm, cake.
D-Day of choice? Friday b/c the whole weekend awaits me
E-Essential Item? lip balm (see Tuesday's post)
F-Favorite color? Turquoise
G-Gummy bears or worms? bears that have been frozen
H-Home town? Danbury, CT (also known as D-block when I'm feeling frisky)
I-Favorite indulgence? scented body washes. I have pumpkin pie right now. When I shower I smell like Thanksgiving.
J-January or July? July for the sun and fun!
K-Kids? I like them, I want them. They will be cute and well behaved with fun names.
L-Life isn't complete without: Laughter and Love. (gosh that sounds cheesy, but its true!)
M-Marriage date? June 13, 2009 - my god that's coming up!
N-Number of brothers and sisters? 1 little sister, Ris
O-Oranges or Apples? Apples of the Rome or Macintosh varieties (rome ones are huge so I feel like Snow White when I eat them. Also, apples are better when you pick them yourself. I alos like them candied.)
P-Phobias? Bridges and Drowning. Or more specifically, drowning b/c of a bridge collapse. I keep the window rolled down and one hand on my seat belt buckle when crossing them for a quick escape.
Q-Quote? "le sigh"
R-Reasons to smile? The bar results are tomorrow at noon. ask me then.
S-Season of choice? Spring. I like how the wet grass smells
T-Tag 3 people: Kyle, Lauren, Shan
U-Unknown fact about me? I did print modeling as a child- Mrs. Butterworth, Dental Magazines, toys...
V-Vegetable? spiniach. But I like all veggies. even brussel sprouts.
W-Worst habit? Worrying to much about things. And biting my nails.
X-Xray or Ultrasound? hmm. Well Xray means you broke something, Ultasound means somethings bursting..... I'm gonna go with X-ray- less risk of needed surgergy.
Y-Your favorite food? Poptarts. I would eat them every single day if I could get away with it without becoming the size of a doublewide trailer.
WHAT HAPPENED TO Z?

It's a Jungle Out There

I wear a lot of skirts to work. It's not because I want to, believe me, it's neither fun or graceful trying to prevent a Marilyn Monroe incident when the wind is kicking up and you are walking to your car surrounded by coworkers and potential employers. I wear skirts to work because I'm a young aspiring attorney in a field where some of the older gentlemen attorneys still think that if a woman wears pants she's trying to "be a man". Men can be so dense sometimes. So I wear a lot of skirts. And I don't mind all that much (wind episodes aside). As long as you can remember to NOT tuck your skirt into your underpants when leaving the bathroom (yes, it actually happens) skirts can be quite fun actually. They make you feel pretty and most of them have the added bonus of having stretchy waistbands, which is just grand on those "My tummy is so bloated I could pass for a pregnant lady" days. No, I like the skirt just fine, thank you. It's the pantyhose I can't stand.
I work in court, which is supposed to be a fancy, serious affair. Somehow that translates into the dress code that women should wear panty hose at all time. And in theory, I agree. Really I do. I understand that it's not very formal to see bare flesh in Court. Also, hose have the added bonus of hiding any stubbly spots you missed when shaving. But in July with 90 degree heat and a 12 minute walk to the parking garage, those hose make my legs sweat more than a guy caught cheating(I work in family court-beleive me-I know).
You would think that if pantyhose make you sweat in the summer than they most definitely make you roasty toasty in the winter. Well if you think that, you must be a male, my dear reader. Let me assure you that a thin coating of nylon has as much insulating effect as putting a piece of plastic wrap over your unmentionables before someone kicks you. Yeah, see? Not so effective.
But the havoc they wreck isn't even my biggest complaint about hose. That would be the runs. I don't have long nails. My cat stays out of my clothes drawers, and last time I checked, the walk to work does not include me climbing concrete walls or wading through a briar patch. And yet, by the end of every workday my legs look as though I've been attacked by a pissed off cheetah. It's even worse when you're wearing black stockings (as I am today) and you have a run (as I do). Suddenly I'm paranoid- i think that everyone one who looks at me is instantly drawn to my legs. I'll try everything- turning it around to make it less noticeable, pulling it up, hairspray, nail polish, prayer. And no matter what I try, inevitably when I get home tonight the reaction will be the same-" Wow, what happened to you?"

What can I say, it's an addiction!

With the cold weather officially here (it was FREEZING this morning) I'd thought I take some time to talk about one of my favorite things about fall & winter- lip balm. I freely admit it, I'm a bit obsessed thanks to a high school stint taking Accutane. At one point I belonged to an online support group- it wasn't helpful, since people mainly talked about what kind of lip balm they used and therefore all I did was go out and buy more lip balms to try. Not many people know this about me, but it's a secret shame of mine. At any given moment I have no less than 3 tubes on me. So being somewhat of an expert, I'd thought I'd review some of the leading brands for you:
- Lip Smackers: pro- the flavors are out of this world (I mean, Dr. Pepper- come on!) Con- the flavors make you lick your lips a lot (mmmmm root beer) which makes your lips drier than they were to begin with.
- Chapstick- Ah, the classic. that waxy taste reminds us all of childhood. Unfortunately that Katy Perry chick has ruined the cherry version for me for all time .
- Anything glossy- I'm talking Victoria's Secret, stuff from Sephora, you know, the clear stuff that usually tastes fruity. It's great for photos,and attracting the fellas, but lets be honest- it's sticky and if you get your hair caught in it good luck untangling that mess! Hair stuck to the mouth is not at all sexy.Plus it's not very soothing.
- Burt's Bees- the ultimate in lip care. it cools, it soothes, it costs 3-4 dollars a tube !
- Medicated stuff in tubs- I'll give it credit for working, because it totally does. But, you end up with its greasiness all over your fingers and smell like a sick person. Good luck getting the boy to kiss you when your lips smell like BenGay. Too high a price for smooth lips.
-Classic White Blistex- it works great, no mess on your fingers,the tingling feels cool, but the white residue it leaves on your lips, well that's not going to help any girl's work reputation, now is it?
Now do you understand why I can't choose just one?

My Folks are on youtube!

Watch for the guy and the lady in the bee costume.. that's them! Sure, it's quick, but still, they're on youtube and I'm not... (plotting....)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WCyvbH9TkvY

Fitting In

My readers (and by “my readers I mean my 3 friends who visit my blog when they’re bored) may be wondering why I decided to start blogging. That’s simple. This is the first September in 17 years that I’m not in school and I miss not having assignments, so this helps fill that void. Also, it helps me keep my mind off the looming bar results (next Friday) by giving me something else to focus on. That’s the stock, what-I-would-tell-people-who-I-don’t-know-well-enough-to-be-honest-answer.
The real reason has nothing to do with boredom prevention and everything to do with Shannon. But not in a purely “Shannon had a blog first so I decided to copy her like a 12 year old girl who wears black nail polish because ‘Miley Cyrus does too!’ ” I met Shannon my senior year in College. She was rushing my sorority and I desperately wanted her to join. She was fun, laid back, and really pretty. We joke around that I’m her big sister in our hearts (it’s ok, Jen will never read this). As a big sister you teach your little sister all about Greek life. Well maybe I did, but Shannon taught me about real life.
I spent most of my middle school and high school years trying to fit in by suppressing parts of myself. Don’t pull out the tissues, this is not an after school special- I had a great time in school with great friends & memories. But along the way I lost little pieces of myself to fit in. I hid the fact that I love to read (because it’s nerdy) I stopped wearing flats and started wearing heels (because you can’t go on a date in sneakers!) I wore contacts and makeup every singe day and I bought ridiculously expensive clothes from Abercrombie because that was what all the coolest kids wanted to wear. Enter Shannon.
I’ve been friends with Shannon for 4 years now and along the way she’s shown me the power in being yourself and not apologizing for it. Shannon’s obsessed with scrapbooking, not obsessed with doing dishes, listens to country music, is religious, loves Pearl Jam, gets queasy at the thought of sharing anything dairy, and reads Nicholas Sparks books. She refuses to wear short skirts or dye her hair and is such a bargain hunter that I’ve seen her analyze the value meal versus the dollar menu at McDonalds to find the better deal. I’ve benefited from these traits literally (she got me an extra $50 off my wedding dress!) but also in that it’s given me the courage to flaunt my hobbies too. I take my knitting to work, talk about every book I read, don’t hide the fact that I like to eat healthy and if I don’t feel like putting on makeup or wearing my contacts, I don’t.
Shannon’s also the only person I know who doesn’t view graduation from college as the finishing line in choosing a career. She takes photography classes (she’s GREAT- she’s shooting my wedding, check out her blog for photos!) She’s even applying to go back to school to get her teaching certificate. She’s not letting just one role define her and I really admire that. It’s inspired me to realize that even if I don’t pass the bar, there are other things I could do, things that I want to do. Like open a bakery. Become a wedding crafter. Or write.

So in sum, Shannon has shown me the value in being comfortable with myself. (thanks Chica). The funny part is, Cosmo just did an entire article on the same thing, so now we’re cool without even trying.

Partial Retraction

So, what Lauren actually said was not to speak ill of her people (i.e. the Mexican folk) not her. So it's possible that I didn't have to write that last post. But I find it amusing and therefore it stays.
P.S. to Lauren- You can't stake claim to your ethnicity now just because Jessica Alba and JLo made it "cool" to be Latina. You don't even eat rice and beans, you eat pancakes.

She's Going to Hurt Me For This

Lauren is my best friend from high school. She's crazy fun (emphasis on the crazy), fashionable, loud and likes to hit people. She sent me a message asking me specifically to not speak ill of her on this blog. Obviously she still doesn't know me after our 10+ years of friendship, because if you give me an order like that, the first thing I'm going to do is look for a way to start trouble. However, because I love her, and because as an almost-lawyer I'm trained to look for the loopholes, I will not speak ill of her. No, not at all. Because everything that follows it TRUE:
1. Held me down and sat on my chest on the auditorium freshman year in high school while exclaiming;" If you die I get your part as a dancer, DIE, DIE!" (I was a dancing nurse in South Pacific. She got to waive a flower around as a glorified prop)
2. Chased me around her bedroom in an attempt to cut off a lock of my hair so that she could tape it into a notebook (what can I say, it was when that movie The Craft was huge). Succeeded in attempt by throwing me facedown on hardwood floor with my head dangling over the top of the stairs. My hair took 2 years to heal.
3. At 2:30 a.m. during a sleepover in my basement decided that I needed to "learn how to fight", put on Rough Riders, and attacked me. The music and my girly squeals awoke my stepdad. The look on his face when he found us at 3 a.m. with me pinned to the floor and her yelling,” Protect your nose!" was priceless.
Her enthusiasm (i.e. violent tendencies) hasn't always been directed towards me. She has also:
1. Smashed hole in the hallway wall by shoving little brother backwards.
2. While at a party at her mother's coworker's house, tackled her mom to the ground when she though her mom was going to tell her crush she liked him. Thankfully Shirley was a little tipsy and laughed off the fact that she had grass stains and leaves in her hair in front of her boss.
3. Unhinged her jaw and attempted to eat her little brother's head while screaming in his face that "Oo, she would NOT get him juice! He was 4 at the time. He's in his teens now and still whimpers a bit when you say the words, "fruit punch".
Sometimes her violence is self-directed. I have seen her:
1. Break 2 bed frames by dancing on them.
2. Twist herself into a strand of Christmas tree lights.
3. Fall over a speed bump while running.
4. Punch a door open with her fist while simultaneously falling up a flight of stairs.
5. Fall out of a booth at Friendly's and onto the floor (yes, she was sober).
6. Climb onto the curb and declare "I'm going to jump!" and then hobble around in a circle as though one leg was shorter than the other (yes, she was drunk).

I could go on for hours. I could talk about our boy debacles, walking adventures, and the thing that used to make her a lil' bit country, but frankly I fear her retribution at this point so I'll stop. I'm banking on the fact that I won't see her for a few months so hopefully her anger will fade. And if not, well, I've been taking Kickboxing....