The Relaxation Station

Today hit me like a ton of bricks. The late night Santa sightings, early morning present unwrapping, and overabundance of sugary treats had finally caught up with me. By 3 pm on Monday afternoon, I began to feel the ill effects of the whirlwind holiday weekend. Naturally, the holidays are a time of stress, so read the following tips and begin to unwind.

1) Take a long, hot shower. Water has always been a source of comfort and relaxation for me. Something about a steamy shower is enough to turn me to mush. Plus, the hot water is awesome for soothing tight, sore muscles. An extra tip: try showering in the dark. It sounds silly but is surprisingly super relaxing. Suds up in there using Stress Relief - Eucalyptus Spearmint shower gel from Bath and Body Works. The scent is said to "clear the mind, uplift the spirits, improve concentration, and help the mind to focus."



2) Give yourself a massage. I like to use a muscle rub like Icy Hot to really penetrate and relax my muscles. You can use a tennis ball to de-stress the back and feet. Put the tennis ball in between your back and the wall and move around, allowing the tennis ball to get into your shoulder blades and loosen kinks. Place the tennis ball on the floor and place your foot over the ball, rolling as you go. Instant foot massage.



3) Embrace the power of aromatherapy. I use to think aromatherapy was crap. However, after spending over a year with constant tension headaches, I was willing to try whatever was on the market for relief. Insert Origins Peace of Mind, On-the-spot relief. This stuff is a god send! This elixir, formulated with natural ingredients, helps zap headaches and tension instantly. Apply two dabs to the temples, back of the head, and ear lops and tension and pressure begin to melt away. The tingling sensation lets you know this stuff is working. Amazing, Period.



4) Breathe. It sounds so simple but deep breathing can go a long way. When I feel tense, I close my eyes and take a deep breath in, hold it for a few seconds, then slowly let the air out through my nose.

5) Invest in a good nature CD. When I was in college my roommate, bless her soul, allowed me to listen to the sounds of rainwater all night long. Something about the pitter patter of rain - even from computer speakers - was enough to quiet my racing mind and relax my body. Maybe rain doesn't do it for you? If not, there are plenty of options, including: ocean waves, forest sounds, babbling brooks, and jungle noises.

A Grammar PSA

It's the holiday season. A time when old friends come together and Christmas cards flood the mailbox. It is during this season that many gather together. It also means that you're probably getting a crap ton of emails, texts, and Facebook messages beckoning you to bars, holiday parties, and other festive gatherings. The Christmas season is also the time when many old flames decide to creep back into your life - for better or worse.

Recently, I was propositioned for the latter. It's not that the individual is a bad person...they just have bad grammar. And when I say "bad," I mean horrible-atrocious-i-don't-think-i-can-even-speak-to-you-because-I'm-so-embarrased-for-you bad.

I understand people make typing mistakes or forget to proof their words but some errors are just unforgivable (see above). Additionally, propositioning me while using the wrong form of "their," "there," "they're" and "your" or "you're" also crushes your chances substantially. I don't expect everyone to be a spelling Nazi, and I certainly am not a grammar whiz by any means of the imagination...but there are some you should just know...period.

Therefore, I urge you guys and gals to reread your texts, emails, and messages before clicking "send." Your English teacher and the general public thanks you in advance.

The First Move

Men. They are a topic talked about quite often on this blog. Obviously, I enjoy the male species. They come in handy most of the time. They do great things for us women-folk like grilling slaps of meat or changing the oil in our car or stalking out and killing whatever rodent, insect, or small animal has inhabited our living quarters.

Men have many good qualities. But there is one man issue I would like to address: the issue of approaching women.

Last Saturday night my friend Emily and I met a man who served in the military. The man has been in Iraq and might be deployed to Afghanistan. The man drove large equipment through areas peppered with land mines. To say this guy is brave is beyond an understatement, however, after flirting with Emily all evening, he couldn't grow a pair and ask her out?

He was very obviously interested. He gave her his number. Spent the evening chatting with her in a very nice, non creepy way and even invited her out for breakfast at a 24 hour diner. They exchanged text messages. Still, it took her bluntly asking him to dinner. What the hell, guys?

I understand women can be intimidating but why not take the bait and make the first move? News flash, you men can be pretty intimidating too. Yet, we women manage to muster up the courage and make a move...shouldn't you?

Many of my guy friends admit to being lax when it comes to making the first move. So much so, that in such situations I assume I'll have to "man up" and take the initiative. I know this is the 21st century and everything but sometimes a lady likes to be chased.

Men, start a revolution. Vow to make a move. We aren't as scary as we seem, I promise.

For Kandi Puppy

I'd like to dedicate this post to my dog Kandi. In honor of all the joy she brought to my family.

We brought Kandi home on a sunny day in early June of 2000. I was an (almost) 12 year old, anxious to play with my first 'real' pet. (I put real in quotations because our family has had an odd assortment of animals in the past. The most noteworthy were Betty and Bobby the freshwater clams that my dad dug up out of our stream, so we had pets for pet day at daycare. I'm serious.)

We adopted Kandi from a kennel a few miles from our house. Her owner dropped her off on a cold, rainy evening and never returned for her. Kandi was timid and shy - a result, we believe, of being beaten by her previous owners. In short, Kandi had quite a sad background. However, our family, equiped with lots of love, was more than ready and willing to give her a new home.

Kandi had a beautiful redish coat that glowed in the sunshine. She was a mix of an Irish setter and golden retriever. She fit in well our family from the beginning. She always seemed to have a smile on her face, and a rapidly wagging tail. Her friendly bark welcomed all who entered our driveway.

I'd take her for walks up and down the streets surrounding my house. I can still hear her nails clipping on the pavement and her faint panting as we walked along. She enjoyed puppy treats and cheese and pretzels - often given to her by my mom. We all loved Kandi, but she loved my dad the most. Her loyalty to him melted all our hearts.

Kandi was always a good sport and played happily with all our other pets. She would sit nose-to-nose with Pudgy our bunny. She would snuggle with Patches our cat. She didn't even fuss when Gary the cat batted at her tail.

It has been almost three weeks since she passed away, and our house is empty without her. At 12 years old, she lived a good, long doggy life. She is buried in our field under a tree, so she will always be home...right where she belongs.

We miss you, Kandi.

Love always,

Your Family xoxo

Kids Say the Darndest Things

I had the most entertaining conversation at my place of employment this afternoon. My boss and his wife have an adorable-6-year-old-firecracker of a daughter. She generally comes in after she gets off the school bus and brings lots of crumbs and smiles to my office.

Today, I was getting ready to leave. She attached herself to my leg and wouldn't let go. I explained that I had to get going home. The rest of the conversation is as follows:

ME: K, I have to get home soon. My mom is expecting me.

K: Mom? You're a mom?

ME: No, no I'm not a mom.

K: But you're at work.

I had to smile because K thought that I must be a mom or 'grownup' since I was working. Her innocent expression absolutely melted my heart.

Also, it made me realize that I must make monies and move out of parents house because, as K sort of pointed out, 'grownups' don't live with their mommies.

Random Things That Make Me Happy: Part 2

Time for the second installment of RTTMMH. In this post's addition, I address this random thing that makes me happy: daydreaming about my future.

I've noticed recently (and I've been doing it for ages) I spend a lot of time inside my own head. My mind plays a continuous loop of thoughts. This loop of thoughts contains life moments like me picking out complicated Swedish furniture at Ikea for my first apartment, me jumping up and down after signing a huge client, or me kissing an attractive stranger under a starry sky.

I read somewhere that a way to achieve success is to picture yourself doing said thing you want to become successful at. In that case, I should be kicking back in new digs and rolling around in a giant pit of money while a handsome stranger waits to slip a sparkling Harry Winston diamond on my finger.

I would like to point out that none of this has happened....yet. Still, I can't help but smile when thinking about all the things I have yet to experience. I'm young. Technically, the above scenario could happen. Is there a one in a billion chance? Well, probably. However, I get off on daydreaming, so don't burst my bubble.

Pessimists would tell me I'm certifiably insane and that I should spend more time with my feet on the ground and less time with my head in the clouds. Yes, but I don't know if you've spent much time around here on Earth. It's kind of depressing, you know, with the recession and rising gas prices and corrupt government and everything. Life is much better in Allison land where everyone rides unicorns bathes in champagne waterfalls and meets men with good taste in jewelry.

Oh there I go daydreaming again! But wasn't that fun? I rest my case for part deux of RTTMMH.

Swoon Playlist

I want to sip a glass of red wine, light a candle, and listen to this song.

Ladies and Gentleman: Diana Krall, The Look of Love. Go grab your sweetheart and take a listen.

Growing Pains

Taylor Swift sings...

I'll be strong, I'll be wrong, oh but life goes on
I'm just a girl, trying to find a place in this world

Amen, Taylor. Amen.

I think I have things together, and then I realize I have nothing together. Do grownups ever really have it 'together?' Or is that a facade that we believe as children? Maybe the idea of 'together-ness' isn't reality?

In any case, I'm trying to get all the pieces of this life puzzle to fit. It's really hard. They don't warn you about this shit in college. Of course, what was I thinking? That I was going to leave campus with a diploma and a magical unicorn spewing fairy dust was going to pick me up and carry me, seamlessly, into a 'big girl' life? Well, that didn't exactly happen.

I need a post college support group. One where we talk about how it is possible to transition to life back in the nest, pay off college loans, and still retain the ability to drink a case on a Thursday night and function Friday morning.

The thing is, I like being a twenty-something. I just wish I had a path to follow. The whole "forge your own path" thing is great....until you realize you're deep in the forest without a map, which is equal to being up shit creek without a paddle. Guess what? Shit creek was a lot more like fun water rapids than "holy-crap-I'm -going-to-fly-off-this-raft-and-impale-myself-on-a-rock" when my biggest worry was what time I had to wake up for class and not how am I going to pay off thousands of dollars and save for a future.

Not to mention, now people want to know when I'm getting married. Dear God can we not throw that wrench into the mix yet! I don't even know what I'm going to wear when I wake up in the morning not to mention who I'm going to spend the foreseeable future with. Obviously I'd like to spend my life with a man and not just Gary that cat, but put the brakes on, people. I'm 22.

For now, I'm going to enjoy being young and hopefully find some more pieces to my life puzzle. If anyone has seen any 'Allison' life pieces, please point me in the right direction because I'm just a girl, trying to find a place in this world.

Automobiles: A Woman's POV

Today, I was on Glamour.com (go there!) and perusing their lifestyle blog, Smitten.

One of the posts I found particularly interesting was this one: When it Comes to Guys and Cars, What Drives You Wild?: glamour.com.

I definitely note what kind of vehicle a guy is driving. I'm not going to base a whole relationship around what brand is on your keys, but I'm always curious. As an automotive enthusiast, it's in my nature. Furthermore, if you can fix what you drive...well, I'm beyond sold. Below are my picks (and glamour.com users) for sexiest vehicles:

-Audi (or German-made cars, in general): Now, if you know me, this was a given. I can't help it. I have a huge passion for Audi, and if a guy shares that, well, that's awesome. I always scan the driver's seat when I pass an Audi. Then, I subconsciously day dream about said driver. I can see it now: the two of us waxing our cars in the driveway in preparation for that car show we are entering together. Our Christmas card picture where we pose, clad in four-ring gear, in front of our S5 and Q7 (respectfully). The rec room in our basement (which we have converted to Le Mans-viewing headquarters) decorated with Audi racing flags and memorabilia. The Audi Club of America magazines in the rack in our bathroom or the Audi Driving Experience in Switzerland that we are saving up or the four-ring onesie we buy for our kid. I'm getting slightly carried away here. Moving on...

-Glamour.com users ranked Jeep as the 'sexiest' brand. Most ladies seemed to agree that guys in Jeeps are outdoorsy and to quote the article , "[Men who drive Jeeps] Know how to pitch a tent...and then some." Maybe there is something to be said about the "it's a Jeep thing" slogan. However, I withdraw the previous statement if you drive a Jeep Liberty. Sorry, not sexy but fine if you're carting your kids to and from little league.

-Classic/Muscle cars were also cited in the comments. Specifically, Camaros and Mustangs. I can totally get behind that. Nothing better than cruising in a classic Camaro and who can resist those big block engines? In addition, vintage Mustangs will always be cool. However, I'm not impressed if you drive a 2000-ish 'stang. You know why? Because everyone and their grandma drives one, including the really sloppy guy in line at the McDonald's drive thru. When I saw him drop a pickle out of his Big Mac onto the dashboard, well, that killed it for me.

Pick up trucks, sports cars, and foreign cars rounded out the online list. You know what wasn't on the list? A Toyota Prius. I'm sorry. I don't care if it's "fuel efficient." You look like a dumbass driving one.

I've ranted a raved enough. Now, I want to know... What make or model revs your engine? (Bad pun but I had to take it).

A New Direction?

There is a saying..."When the going gets tough, the tough get going." Where do they go? If I could finish that sentence it would be "far away." Lately, that seems to be my fix for life's problems.

When things don't work out the way I planned, I fantasize about disappearing. Yes, essentially "running away from my problems." I know, that isn't healthy, but I don't have anything stopping me. I could just go.

I don't have any kids or a house or a man. I could get up tomorrow and move across the country. Sure, my family and friends are here, but they'll love me no matter what my address. Every time I try to put down roots, try to get settled, something comes along and ruins my plans.

Each set back makes me yearn for my suitcase and an unlimited bank account to buy a plane, train, boat ticket to God-knows-where. I feel like everyone else has taken a chance on life. I feel like I'm standing still. My life needs a jolt. I crave a scene change.

Perhaps this sapling needs a transplant...

A Goldfish Obituary

I regret to inform everyone, that my beloved fair goldfish, Garfield, passed away from natural causes this morning. Garfield was a good fish. He enjoyed swimming in circles, flapping his fishy fins, and watching the world go by from the confines of his fishbowl. Garfield had such a promising life ahead of him after Allison spent $12 to win him and free him from his plastic bag prison. Garfield is survived by his owner, Allison, and countless fellow goldfish brothers and sisters. In lieu of flowers, a donation can be made to the Garfield Goldfish Scholarship Fund. Services will be held in the downstairs bathroom at Allison's residence with Father Chris presiding.
_____________________________

I have cried my tears and mourned over Garfield, but to be honest, it wasn't really a shock that he passed so quickly. Our family has never had much luck with goldfish. I think there is an invisible force field in our house. Once a fish passes over the thresh hold, his chances of life are slim to none. Now, I will admit, there were some times that the fish's death was out of his control.

Case and point, when I was a little kid and my parents found me sitting on the kitchen table petting our latest goldfish. Apparently, taking a fish out of water to pet it is not a good idea. However, my four year old brain thought it was brilliant. Blame my parents for that one. We didn't have any furry mammal pets, so I had to improvise. Also, I distinctly remember Megan and I skipping through the fairgrounds clutching our new pet fish and swinging the plastic bags in circles. I don't think you're supposed to do that...and then we wondered why "Goldie" was dead the next morning.

The fall seasons of my childhood were filled with opportunities to win goldfish. The Denver and Ephrata fairs provided many instances for my parents to drop cash for a scrawny, malnourished fish (and we wondered why they died? the fish is living - without food - in a plastic bag for 3 days).

Naturally, we named each fish and watched them swim in circles for hours the evening we brought them home. The next morning we would awake and clamor down the stairs to say good morning. The sight was always the same. Fish, belly up, floating at the top of the tank. Meg and I were devastated, and my Mother would sneak out of work during lunch to try and win us replacements.

The good news is that the Ephrata fair runs this week and will provide another opportunity to replace poor Garfield. RIP buddy, I hardly knew you.

Power Tools

I need a hobby.

I aspire to be crafty. Specifically, I have been in the mood to redecorate lately - my office, my room, or whatever space is available. One of my projects is to hang a variety of different sized frames on one wall in my room. Frames in various colors and textures.

In order to hang said frame, I would need a level. Mostly because I am insanely anal and like things to be straight and perfectly spaced out. However, I have issues. I can't even draw a straight line with a ruler (thank God that architecture thing didn't work out -my clients would have uneven floors and ceilings).

Therefore, to get the job done, I need this...

Yes, ladies and gentleman....a laser level!

This puppy suctions to the wall and gives you a perfect line every time. Plus, it does things like locate metal studs in a wall and live wires. Handy, because getting electrocuted could really put a damper on your home improvement project.

I could be a picture hanging bad ass with this thing! My mind is spinning with all the possibilities!

Interestingly enough, this is not the first "power tool" I have wanted to purchase. Tech Ed in 7th and 8th grade gave me a hankering for a nail gun. I literally asked for one for 2 Christmases.

This is the conversation that generally followed...

Dad: Allison, what the hell are you gonna do with a nail gun?

Me: Uh, build stuff...duh.

Logical, I thought. Obviously I was going to be the next Amy Wynn Pastor from Trading Spaces with my nail gun. And ok, maybe in the past I had some DIY disasters. For instance, I found a 1930s metal bed frame in an antique store and had plans to spray paint it to match my room. Dad set me up with all the necessary equipment. Not 5 minutes into the project, I almost spray painted my eye. Needless to say, Dad finished the painting.

I believe everyone deserves a DIY pardon.

Therefore, Santa, if you're reading this, please put a Black and Decker laser level on my Christmas list. I have been a very good girl this year. Please and thank you!

Love,

Allison

Sleeping Beauty

Currently, I am working hard to generate business and revenue in my big girl job. I need money to, you know, live, but also for things like student loan payments, overpriced specialty coffee drinks, and my latest obsession...Pottery Barn.

Now, I don't have a space of my own (yet) and I probably would (not) be able to afford Pottery Barn, but a girl has to dream! I perused the site this afternoon and shrieked out loud because I discovered that Pottery Barn carries my dream bedding! (Insert cricket chirps here because who freaking has "dream" bedding? Well...I do).

Ask anyone, I am the Queen of naps. If I have spare time (hell, even if I don't) I can most likely be found curled up in a pile of pillows and blankets snoring soundly. In fact, I could tell you the components of my "dream" bed right now.

- An upholstered headboard or iron framed canopy bed

- 1500 count Egyptian cotton sheets
- Queen size Vera Wang by Serta mattress

Andddddddddddd drum roll please...

MONOGRAMMED SHEETS!!!!

Who else is super excited?!?!

What can I say? I'm a sucker for a good monogram. If I had my way, I'd have my initials embroidered on the edge of the pillowcases in navy blue. Sadly, I have given a lot of thought to this.

Until then, I will continue slumbering on my bleach-stained JCPenney pillowcases.

Here's to sweet, stylish dreams my dears.

Random Things That Make Me Happy - Part One

I have decided to start a segment on my blog entitled "Random Things That Make Me Happy." Honestly, I'm a pretty simple lady, and it doesn't take much to make me smile. The first installment of RTTMMH focuses on...babies.

Yes, I love babies. Please do not think that means I want babies (which, I do, but not now, notttttt now). Instead, it brings me joy watching, observing, and playing with other peoples' kids.

I am that person on the bus/train/sidewalk that has a huge smile plastered on her face and is waving her arms like a blatant idiot in an attempt to make your kid grin. I am that person oogling over bite size overalls and pea coats in Baby Gap. I am that person watching A Baby Story on TLC oohing and ahhing over pint sized newborns (and at the same time scared shitless at the idea of birthing a human being).

How can you not love a teeny, tiny, innocent baby? I can't help but coo over their pudgy little legs, soft, rosy cheeks, and toothless grins. And the sound of a baby laugh is enough to melt even the iciest of hearts. Oh and baby feet! Baby feet are undeniably precious.

Plus, kids really do and say the darndest things like suggesting you name your new puppy "Tractor." Or coloring the cat with pink magic marker. Or chopping off a large chunk of your mother's hair in her sleep.

However, I have also learned that there are times when you should not wave and smile at children...and that is when they have a super creepy father. Story time! It was mid December, and I was on my way home from my internship. I was standing on the subway platform feeling very jolly. It was my last day of the internship, and I was looking forward to a fun evening at the bar with friends. It was rather empty, and I glanced around and spotted a family.

A little boy looked at me and waved. I smiled and waved back, just being friendly. Then, the father appeared. He approached me and asked if I was married, which is when I knew this was going downhill. Then, told me that he needed a momma for his kids.

Okkkkkkkkkkkkk.

After a nervous laugh, I hightailed it out of there and vowed never again to make eye contact on public transportation.

However, the moral of this story - babies are still cute...even if they belong to creepy people.

Where the Green Grass Grows

It is the most gorgeous day in Central PA today. The sky is china blue, and the clouds look like they've been painted on. Everything is vivid hues of green and yellow. I feel slightly like I stepped into a Technicolor dream world.

There is a slight breeze floating through my office window. The sun casts a warm shadow. I say a silent prayer of thanks for the sheer loveliness I'm experiencing at this very moment. I cannot think of anything more beautiful than a summer day.

I adore the view of the Philadelphia skyline but nothing compares to the patchwork fields and clear skies of Lancaster County. I feel like I'm living in a postcard.

Enjoy Tim McGraw's "Where the Green Grass Grows," which is the perfect song for today (and another instance of Pandora stalking my musical brain).

Meow

I am dedicating this post to my lovely furry friend, Gary the Cat.

We celebrated Gary's birthday a couple days ago. Yes, I threw a party for my cat. Yes, I know that sounds pathetic and one day I hope to throw birthday parties for my children and not a feline. For now, I gotta work with what I got...and for the record, his cake was awesome. Yes, he had a cake...and yes, he actually ate some of it and surprisingly didn't throw up anywhere. Win!

Anyway, here is the story of Gary.

Last summer my friend Brian and I were on our way home from the bar. We rounded a sharp curve in the road, and Brian jerked the steering wheel suddenly to miss something on the road...

Brian: I think that was a kitten.
Me: (screaming) TURN AROUND AND GO GET IT

We turn around to go examine our findings. There, smack dab in the middle of the yellow line, lay Gary. He was tiny and wet. He was skeletal and appeared to only have one eye. He was crying, and his appearance absolutely broke my heart. I had no idea if my family would let me keep the cat but all I knew was that I couldn't leave him (later, I would explain to my mother that Jesus told me to take Gary home).

Once home, a bunch of us attempted to nurse Gary back to health. His first night he slept in a box in our summer kitchen. The next day my mother swore up and down we couldn't keep him, but my dad (he is such a softie!) took one look at Gary and committed himself to taking care of this kitten.

As it turned out, Gary had 2 eyes. He was also malnourished and weighed all of one pound (his welcome packet at the vet weighed more than he did). He had a severe respiratory infection and mites in his ears. He was lucky to be alive. Furthermore, free kitties are never really free (Gary was the $500 cat by the time it was all said and done).

Yet, this year with Gary was a wonderful one. He makes us laugh and does cute things. He is kind of dumb but too effing loveable for words. And yes, he is named after the snail on Spongebob Squarepants (genius, I know).

So, happy birthday/adoption day Gary! The Freeman Family (even mom) is happy to have you.

Oh, and for the record, I'm not allowed to bring any more animals home.

Ode to Fall

Summer you were really cool (actually, really hot) but I am ready for you to peace out and make room for fall. I am trying hard to pretend it's fall by doing things like turning the AC in my room down to 62 degrees, wearing cardigans in 90 degree weather, and sipping hot beverages. Summer has its advantages, including, frozen margaritas with umbrellas, porch parties, and sundresses.

However, I crave flannel and campfires and overpriced pumpkin spice lattes from Starbucks. I want to step outside my door and not drip sweat (lovely mental picture, I know). I'd enjoy not constantly having mosquito bites all over my feet.

Plus, I'm excited for fall shopping. I'm lusting after cognac colored boots and midnight washed denim and a jewel toned pea coat (or trench coat or bomber jacket...). I dream of trading in my pink gloss for matte red lipstick and my pastel eyeshadows for a swipe of black liner.

I want to drink apple cider and tea. I want to wear sweatshirts and my favorite worn in jeans. I want to add another blanket (or 5) to my bed and snuggle up without perspiring.

Summer you have overstayed your welcome. Please make room for fall and don't try and pull any of that Indian summer shit.

Love,

Allison

I'm Putting On My Big Girl Panties and Dealing...Right After This Rant

Disappointment is the worst emotion and lately I've been feeling its effects on a too frequent basis.

I think I am rather forgiving but there are a few select souls who walk all over me. Now, I know that, yet I let it happen anyway. That forgiveness thing can be a blessing and a curse sometimes. However, I am done giving chances. They aren't free, you know (well, actually you probably think they are...but not anymore, buddy).

Furthermore, if you commit to someone, you should probably follow through with your actions. It's just polite, really. I'm not Emily Post here or anything but for serious.

Ok. End rant.

Now listen to this Katy Perry song I've had on repeat all weekend.

Where in the World is My Prince?

I attended a beautiful wedding this evening, and all the love vibes have me wondering...where in the world is my prince?

Now, I am not going to sit here and bitch and moan about the fact that I am unattached because:

a) That's effing annoying.

b) I'm not one of those girls who needs a man in her life to feel justified or whatever.

However, as I lay in bed tonight, I just can't help but wonder...

...will I be alone forever?

That seems overdramatic but I feel it's a valid question. I just want to know if I should start buying cats and stop shaving my legs now. If the universe could somehow let me know that I won't be wearing adult diapers and playing bingo in the home by myself...well, that'd be reassuring.

At the end of the day, aren't we all looking for that missing piece? The puzzle piece (aka man or woman) who fits perfectly into that void in our hearts. I feel like something is missing from my life, and isn't it human nature to want to feel whole?

Please don't cry for me Argentina. I am a strong, independent, sassy woman, but I'd sleep better at night knowing that my life won't consist of eating Ramen on a TV tray and watching reruns of Jeopardy alone every night.

While I wait for a sign from above...you can enjoy the following video that pretty much sums up this post and makes me laugh.

*The video sucks...but just listen to the lyrics.

I'm So Scared of Getting Older, I'm Only Good At Being Young...

The title of this post is more than just lyrics to a John Mayer song, it's the way I feel about my life right about now. Now, don't get me wrong, there are some really cool things about being an adult.

They include but are not limited to:

• Margaritas
• Staying out late
• Driving

However, sometimes being an "adult" is not all it's cracked up to be. Sometimes I feel like I've been thrown head first into adultdom and that I really don't know anything. Or what I thought I knew, I really don't know.

I like lists and post it notes and planners. I do not enjoy college/real world limbo. I want to know my place. I'm searching for somewhere to fit in now that I'm equipped with a college degree and looming student loan payments.

As of right now, I don't have a steady job...or man...or place of my own. I do, however, have a cat...though that really isn't helping my cause right now. I look around at friends who are married, have children, and have a house. They have it "together" as far as society's standards are concerned. I guess I could have had those things, but I don't want to settle (and dear God I am not ready to handle a small child right now...it's a big enough job taking care of myself).

The other thing is that it seems everyone has an idea about how my life should play out. Where I should work or who I should date or where I should move. Sometimes it makes me want to scream. I am a firm believer in creating your own destiny, your own path. Yes, I appreciate suggestions and advice. No, I would not like you to write me a five year plan.

For the first time in my life, I have no idea about my next step. It is both scary and exhilarating...but mostly scary. I have the whole world in front of me. The potential to do something great or royally fuck up.

In any case, I can't stop time. I must keep moving forward.

This is my life. My plans...to be continued.

I Don't Get Out Much

Blame it on too many episodes of Great Hotels on the Travel Channel, but I love hotels. Personally, I believe the obsession comes from the fact that I never stay in them. You see, our family...we go RV-ing. Yes, like the commercial. This is due in part to my father's hatred of a) flying and b) staying in hotels. Therefore, our vacations always consist of driving to a destination and staying in our "house on wheels." (Cue scene from National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation).

Therefore, when I stayed overnight in Philadelphia this week for interviews, I was quite excited to stay in a place, well, not on wheels. For me, one of the most exciting things about hotels is seeing the room for the first time. I get all giddy like a kid on Christmas morning when I put the key card into the slot and hear the lock click open.

In this case, I stayed at the Inn at the Union League. The Union League is a super fancy private club on Sansom Street in Philly. It was founded in 1862 to support the policies of Abraham Lincoln. The League is for members only and you must be invited to join. There is a loophole though - guests at the Inn have access to all member-only facilities at the League. These privileges include dinner in the private restaurants and access to the business center and fitness center. Oh, and did I mention the dress code? Suit jackets are required on all public floors for men and the appropriate equivalent for ladies. Jeans, flipflops, and sneakers are also big no-nos.

When I arrived at the League, I intended to go about my entire stay pretending that I was somewhat important. This included changing into heels for check-in and nodding knowingly as the desk clerk went over all hotel policies. Afterwards, I gleefully took my key card and the elevator to the 4th floor.

I proceeded to my room, eager to see my digs. I swung open the door and stepped into my room. A cozy retreat greeted me upon arrival. The first thing I did after setting my bags down was hunt down the extra pillow and blanket from the closet and open every single drawer/cupboard in the room. When I was satisfied, I went into the bathroom to snoop at the toiletries - acceptable. I notice the monogrammed robe on the back of the bathroom door and momentarily think about wearing it around the room for the duration of my stay. I decide against that plan when I realize the robe is made for a 6 ft, 300 lb man.

Next, I take a running start and belly flop into my queen size bed. It's been a long day already, so I do what I do best...nap. When I awake from my beauty sleep, I decide to explore the business center on the first floor. I slip into my heels and throw on a blazer over my sundress.

I enter the center and see a handful of people who actually look they have something more important to do with their time then run around hotel rooms in oversize robes and guzzle pineapple juice from the minibar.

I stand up straight, roll my shoulders back, and walk towards a vacant workstation. I flip on the table lamp and check my email, pretending that I'm doing something more noteworthy than emailing my Dad to inquire about how my cat, Gary, is doing. I look around and notice a jar full of Union League pens. Glancing back and forth to make sure no one is looking, I super class-ily shove about 20 of them in my purse (one pen for mom, one for dad, one for grandma...). After the pen debacle, I decide my work in the business center is done and retreat back to the 4th floor.

The rest of the evening is spent outside of the hotel. Upon return, I climb into my awesome bed and proceed to sprawl out on my stomach atop 4 pillows and 3 blankets. When I awake, I'm sleeping diagonally across the mattress (I have no idea how I'm going to ever share a bed with another person...we'll cross that bridge when we come to it).

My alarm (er phone rings...I ordered a wakeup call...I'm getting my $170 worth of this stay) at 6 am and I bounce out of bed, eager for the free continental breakfast I'm promised at check in. I wander down to the dining room, almost sashaying into a breakfast for the Temple Health System...oops. When I find the Founder's Dining Room, I think my jaw hits the floor (so much for pretending to be important).

The restaurant is dressed in a navy and gold color scheme. A staff of waiters escort me to my table. I slide into a velvet banquet and nod furiously when asked if I'd like coffee. At the buffet, a jolly man makes me a bacon omelet. I return to my table thinking I should be reading the Wall Street Journal to fit in. I sip my coffee from a petite china cup and decide that I must find a way to have this happen, mmm, every day of my life.

In short, I thoroughly enjoyed my stay (I'm sure you couldn't guess). Also, I would really like to figure out how I can be like Samantha Brown (host of Great Hotels)...that'd be pimp.

I've Got A City Love

When most people want to recharge their batteries, they go somewhere green, somewhere quiet, and somewhere where they can escape the grind of everyday life.

When I want to recharge my batteries, I go to the one place that always makes me feel alive....the city of Philadelphia. My spirits surge in tune with the constant blaring horns. I relish in the sound of my heels on the pavement. I sigh in contentment as the subway whooshes past me; my hair flying in all directions.

I am happiest chatting with friends at a sidewalk cafe, sipping an electric blue martini on a bar rooftop, or window shopping on Walnut Street. I love the contrast of the city. One second I can be surrounded by powerful men in suits, while the next I'm standing next to a woman on the Blue Line, singing her heart out to a captive audience.

Growing up in a small town had me itching to spread my wings somewhere far away from cornfields and cows. Of course, my first year in Philly I must have looked straight of the farm because I attracted the strangest people. However, as time went on, I became comfortable navigating the public transit system, venturing downtown alone, and confidently giving directions to lost tourists.

Philadelphia holds an emotional connection for me. I grew up both personally and professionally amidst the sparkling skyscrapers and cobblestone streets. I went on my first date in Rittenhouse Square. I held my first internship at the Red Cross' headquarters in Center City. I spotted my first glimpse of a pimp and his hookers at an ATM in South Philly.

I aspire to one day work and play in the 19106 zipcode. I can see myself working furiously in a cubicle in one of Center City's high rise offices, walking hand-in-hand with my significant other to one of the up-and-coming Steven Starr restaurants, and, eventually, pushing a stroller past the fountain in Logan Square. Philly is where I want start my adult life.

Of course, I can't predict what the future holds for me, but I know that no matter where I travel that the City of Brotherly Love will always hold a special place in my heart.

True Love

A few nights ago, I was sitting at the kitchen table compiling a media list for a client. It was past midnight, and my caffeine buzz was slowly wearing off. As I stared absentmindedly around the kitchen, my gaze fell on the cookie jar.

In our house, the blue and white ceramic jar holds Oreo cookies (double, never single-stuffed). Oreos are as much a staple in our house as milk and bread. The Oreos, though we all indulge, are mostly for my Dad.

*Fun fact: My obsession with coffee started with Oreos. As a kid, I would dip my cookies into my parents steaming mugs (and leave cookie pieces floating in their brew). Eventually, I started drinking the coffee, not just dunking my cookies. Thus, an addiction was born.

Anyway, currently, our cookie jar has a DIY addition. Under the lid is a layer of aluminum foil. I first noticed the foil when I returned home from college. Laughing at the sight, I went to find my Dad and heckle him.

Punching him playfully in the arm, I badger him about his invention. Looking up from his laptop with a confused look on his face, he replies that the foil contraption is all my mother's doing. I find her to investigate.

Me: Mom, why did you put aluminum foil on the cookie jar?

Mom: For Dad.

Me: :Stars quizzically:

Mom: In the summer he complains that the Oreos get stale from all the humidity. I put the foil under the lid to make sure his cookies stay fresh.

...If that isn't love, I don't know what is.

The moral of the story? I hope to one day find a man who will construct a shield out of foil to make sure my favorite cookies don't go stale. Because, sometimes the smallest gestures take up the most room in your heart.

And love doesn't get any sweeter than fresh Oreos.

Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better (maybe)

My lovely friend (and fellow blogger) Emily, wrote a blog about the things she can and cannot do. Read it here. I'm following suit.

Things I'm Good At:

-Spotting and naming the model and year of all Audi vehicles from miles away

-Walking in heels

-Telling stories

-Making sangria/ice cream cake/champagne punch/grilled cheese

-Writing

-Doing makeup

-Walking/running into things and getting black and blue marks all over my legs

-Taking naps

-Finding really funny birthday cards

-Giving hugs

-Rescuing poor, pathetic-looking animals from the middle of the road and nursing them back to health

Things I'm Bad At:

-Painting my nails

-Giving Gary the Cat a bath

-Driving stick shift

-Doing hair

-Being patient

-Not looking up medical symptoms on WebMd

-Math (with or without a calculator)

-Not spilling on white pants/shirt

-Keeping track of purchases in my checkbook

-Walking into Sephora and not buying anything

Things I Just Can't Do:

-Snap my fingers

Norah Jones - Chasing Pirates

I've been a Norah Jones fan since her first album, Come Away With Me. Chasing Pirates is off her newest album, The Fall, and I am obsessed with this song. However, can we talk about the video for a second? It is 2 minutes and 42 seconds of pure loveliness.

The whimsical nature of the video mimic the song lyrics perfectly. C'mon, she is sailing a pirate ship through New York City. That is ballin. Not to mention, Norah looks ah-ma-zing. I adore her new short, wavy 'do.

Plus, her wardrobe? Gorge, gorge, gorge! The distressed, cloudy colored boots she wears in the beginning of the video are the perfect mix of grungy chic. Also, I love the chunky gold bracelets that adorn her wrist when she bends down to pick up the glass bottle. I can hear them jingling together now.

Furthermore, her take on a, quote on quote, pirate outfit is super cute. The one earring, black vest and knee high boots, gold cuffs, and gauzy soft pink skirt are costume-y yet fashion forward. Oh Norah, you slay me! Oh, and where can I buy a replica of that exact outfit? Perhaps I'll be a classy pirate for Halloween this year.

Finally, we must dissect her makeup as it is pure perfection. The women has porcelain skin (refreshing considering most celebs are some sort of orange-y, bronze-y, skin- color-not-found-in-nature). Her dark eyes pop against her smudged, navy eyeliner and are framed by a fan of lush, inky lashes. Her glossy, baby pink pout contrast the darker eye makeup and warm up her complexion. All in all, sheer, unadulterated pretty.

Norah Jones is most certainly Swoon.-worthy. Now, go check out The Fall. You won't be disappointed.

My Writing Process

Here is a peek at what my writing process looks like....

Sit down at desk
Check Facebook
Open Word, minimize and Facebook chat
Get up from desk and go make coffee
Sip cup of coffee and stare at cursor in Word document
Type two words but decide they sound stupid and delete
Continue Facebook chat
Get up to pee
Put on Pandora station...Today's Top Hits
Sing loudly to California Girls
Get out of chair and dance to California Girls
Pee
Go back downstairs to reheat coffee in microwave
Check Facebook
Read about how to properly apply eyeliner on glamour.com
Bring up Word document and begin to type until B.O.B. comes on Pandora
Get out of chair and bust a move
Pee again (damn coffee)
Go outside and talk to Dad
Pour myself another cup of coffee and grab a snack
Stalk ex boyfriends on Facebook
Pee

There you have it, folks. The way to conjure up your creative genius.

A Workin' Man

It's Tuesday afternoon, and I am procrastinating doing my writing assignment. Therefore, I have decided to write an enlightening post about careers entitled "The Top 5 Hottest Occupations"...woo!

Here are my top 5...
1) Doctor - OMG swoonnnnnnnnnn. C'mon, isn't this a given? A man in a white coat who SAVES LIVES. So hot. Extra points if he's a pediatrician. Not to mention, if you got married you could be DR. and Mrs. So and So. Classy.
2) Mechanic - The thought of cozying up to a guy with grease under his fingernails might not sound appealing to everyone, but I think its effing sexy. I don't know what it is but seeing a guy working under the hood instantly makes me melt. Plus, he works with his hands....that is also uber attractive. "Baby, can I check your oil and rotate your tires?" YES, PLEASE!
3) Man in the Armed Forces (any and all branches) - Not only is this guy protecting our country (many thanks, btw) but he also wears a uniform (sighhhh dress uniform). He is also probably really fit, strong, and fearless. Oh, and if you get married, you get to walk under the swords, and I'm pretty sure someone plays a trumpet.
4) Writer - Again, I might be partial to this occupation because I'm a writer too. Another plus here is that this guy might actually know the difference between your, you're and there, their, and they're...that's appealing in and of itself. Also, I love the thought of going over a manuscript with a fellow writer, both of us scratching out phrases and circling so-so paragraphs in red ink. Then, we could spend the night creating our own happy ending (ok, ok that was corny, but I can't pass up a writer pun).
5) Artist/Musician/Insert Something Else Artsy Here - I need some sensitivity to round out this list, which comes in the form of an artist, musician, etc. I have no musical talent, so anyone who can play something other than the recorder or the radio is a God in my book. I imagine an artist with a streak of yellow paint on his cheek, pondering the next move on his canvas. We would spend our days hand-in-hand in museums ogling over great works, and then he would paint me a la Jack Dawson in Titanic.

Did I leave anyone out in my list? Please, share!

Dad Knows Best

Even though it's a day after Father's Day, I think this is worth posting anyway.

I'm a Daddy's girl. Always have been. Always will be. I can't deny him, and he can't deny me. When I was born, my Mom took one look at me and announced she had to continue to have kids until one looked like her. I have his trademark blue eyes, sandy brown hair, and smile. We share the same sarcastic, yet goofy sense of humor. We are both stubborn and opinionated. We have the same mannerisms, so much so that I've been nicknamed "little Chris."

Probably one of our biggest similarities is our love for cars...and that love of cars is all his doing. Many of my memories consist of him clad in flannel shirts, work boots, and ripped jeans, leaning over the hood of a truck or peeking out from the underbelly of a car. As a curious kid, I always asked, "What are you doing, Daddy?" He answered in a magical language of mechanical lingo that left my head spinning. Wanting always to be just like him, I vowed to learn that language. As the years went by, I did learn (am learning).

His garage motto is "We fix," though that applies to everything from a broken carburetor to a broken heart. He is my biggest advocate and my number 1 fan. He has taught me all sorts of life lessons, like Listerine fixes all medical woes, beer is essential to any home repair project, and that all boys are evil, except for him and my Grandpa.

Dad also has lots of cool talents, like the ability to name the make/model of taillights and/or headlights on a motorhome, sing all the lyrics to pretty much any song from the 50s, 60s, and 70s, and do a really convincing impression of our cat, Gary. He appreciates the humor in Spongebob Squarepants, eats Oreos and milk every single morning, and can't decide whether Airplane! or The Sound of Music is his favorite film.

But most importantly, he loves my sister, Mom, and me with every bone in his body. And on this (day after) Father's Day, and everyday, I am so very thankful that he is my Daddy. I love you, Poppa Bear.

Sometimes Facebook Chat Yields Insightful Thoughts

Today, I was speaking with one of my good friends regarding man problems. In her particular situation, the object of her affection is thousands (yes, thousands) of miles away. She went back and forth wondering if she was wrong to harbor affection for a man who doesn't live on the same continent.

Now, I am not one to give man advice, but I sympathized with her situation. Life is way too short. Missed opportunities are all around us. Isn't it better to have tried then to sit around and wonder "what if?" Sure, putting yourself out there can yield disappointment (and I hate being disappointed) but isn't it better than sitting alone on a Friday night drinking copious glasses of wine and sniffling over a chick flick because you couldn't get up the nerve to text your crush "hello?"

Therefore, I say go for it, girl. Live it up. Love with everything you have. Practicality has no place in love.

At the end of our conversation, Miss Em answered her own predicament with these words...

"I'm learning that you can't control life, so you might as well dream a little bit." Amen sister.

#1

According to copyblogger.com, the number one thing to do in order to become a better writer is to blog. I hope to one day be a better writer, so I think this whole blog thing is a step in the right direction.

I started a blog in the past but didn’t keep up with it. However, now I am freshly graduated, searching for employment, and in need of some sort of hobby that is not watching 2 hours of PBS telethons. Therefore, Swoon. was born.

I’ve always loved to write. You can ask my mother. She saved all my second grade scribbles. Luckily, my passion f0r the written word has only grown (and I’ve transitioned from writing in crayon). Most of the writing I do now is professional but I needed an outlet for my random musings, jumbled poetry, and occasional sappy love letters to unnamed boys (I may be 22, but I haven’t gotten over the rush of linking my first name with a boy’s last name…bite me, I’m a hopeless romantic).

So, here it is. A blog that will hopefully help me hone in on my writing skillz, jolt my creativity, and provide a bit of entertainment, for you, dear reader.

Happy reading!

-A