Prossibly the way to my heart (new word.)

I would like to say the following story is unordinary, unusual, or even unheard of on a day to day basis in my family.

Post-surgery (sorry to keep bringing it up, my sexy walking boot tan line seems to be a topic of discussion occuring at a frequency far too high for anyone's tolerance...) driving has been a bit of a dilemma. Thus, one of my most regular life dil-Emma's has been driving me around like a dedicated driving sister slave. On one such occasion when being picked up from work, I was assaulted by her ravings about Margaret spoiling this season of the Bachelorette. For the first few seconds I was relieved that the target of her wrath was not me, as it was last season when I told her who Brad picked. FYI... Reality Steve had it wrong last season anyway so I don't really see how I can be held responsible for ruining it for her with the wrong person in the end, but my fate was sealed a year ago.

Margaret and my mom were watching a preview for the Bachelor Pad (another high quality program watched by the Lichtenfels Women to enrich our lives and boost our self esteem) and Emma overheard something about Ames ending up happy with her. The "her" was not specified, so Emma stormed out in a blind rage certain that Ames won. For non-watchers, Ames has degrees from Harvard, Yale and Columbia, and when he was sent home this week told Ashley their love had been poetic. GIRL. What are you thinking. At least get knocked up with his kid before you send him home and then pick the guy you want.

Now, it seemed obvious to me from the beginning that _____ was going to win (which he is, if Reality Steve didn't jack this one up too) and I pointed out to Emma that obviously Ames didn't win and if she used her brain she could easily guess. At which point the lightning bolts of anger were redirected to myself and the car was pulled over and I was told to get out.

Like I said, it would be lovely to tell you that blow up fights rarely occur, let alone over reality TV, but that would be a lie. Anyways, that fight progressed into a full family fight with lots of crying and a dinner made to make it up to me. Which made me realize that, in true I am a girl with issues who acts like a boy fashion, food is the way to my heart.

Last night, I had one of those "so, summer is coming to an end, where is this going" discussions, and following being told that school and my friends would come first, that there would never be anger or pressure over my being busy and that he just wanted to be with me, he said the magic words: I will buy you Starbucks.

Bing bang boom that's how you seal the deal baby. Well, not literally because then I'd end up with a baby and have to stop drinking caffeine, thus the Starbucks offer would go to shit. But metaphorically. Make me pasta, feed me sandwiches from my favorite place, buy me BBQ burgers on a first date and ignore the BBQ sauce on my cheek and arm, and then offer to buy me Starbucks and all that "Oh, it's just fun" business may possibly be considered. Or "prossibly" which is a word I invented to night which means possibly/probably. In case you ever are in a sitch where you want to say both but be confusing (reverting back to the girl side of your complicated self.)

Prossibly food is the way to everyone's stomach. And obviously I need to go to bed because I meant to write prossibly food is the way to everyone's heart. Food and Starbucks.

Cold feet

I grew up listening to the Dixie Chicks. The song "Ready to Run" was the Runaway Bride borrow theme song to my idea of love.... riding away on a horse in a wedding dress, but somehow ending up happy at the same time. It seems silly that tonight, as I sat contemplating what amount of honesty was necessary for myself and for dating, that Sex and the City told me exactly what I needed to hear: "Sometimes, the most difficult yet interesting relationship we have, is with ourself." Amen, Carrie Bradshaw. Amen.

It seems that regardless of what date is taken, what text is exchanged or what movie is "watched" we all end up going to sleep at night questioning what we want. We. Ourself. What do me, myself, and I want. Yet do we really ever listen to that? And if we do, is that selfish or is that honest. That is the dilemma. My sister asked me a few weeks ago if I believed there really was the "one" out there for each person. As I thought about it over the next few days I thought about all the strange and gawky couples that come in with their often ginger children and are totally in love. Even after sleepless nights, baby vomit, and years of being together, they are happy. Yet divorce rates are through the roof and it seems that our generation is asking the question: is there anyone out there who will understand, appreciate or accept the fact that I am who I am?

Now, I will be honest and inform you (if you don't know me, which you probably do because you few are the only ones still reading this) that I am extremely independent, get stressed out and furious over small things, have rage issues involving laundry and losing things, and would probably physically assault a large number of people if it wouldn't hinder my career opportunities or put a mark on my police record. I love being in charge. And you know what? At the same time, I want a guy who is able to be straight forward about what he wants as well. If I know, so should he.

Jenna Marbles put out a video (PS this part is a little explicit Mom, and does not refer directly to my own life do not fear) talking about how she wishes we could cut the bull and have a new social networking site on which you simply say "Oh, I would do ( ) with this person" and you can so "Oh wow, if the situation presented itself, she/he'd let me go to second base." Virtually all of our issues with "Does he like me too much" or "Where is this going" would be fixed. And yet we are left sitting at home asking ourselves if we are selfish, or just confused.

My sister, in one of her brilliant moments where she put into words what I couldn't think of but needed to, said: Love is the one thing in which we need to be completely selfish. If you don't know what you want and expect it, you will never be happy.

Touche. Yet then until you find the infamous and evil "one" you are left sleeping alone at night with cold feet. And maybe your feet are cold because you can't take a risk or because, like me, you are stressed and busy and can't deal with having that on your new iPhone schedule. While blaming my grande white mocha for keeping me up, perhaps it is that instead of focusing on my own mental health after a 12 hour work day, I stayed up thinking about a boy and a dilemma. After six months of thinking about myself in Spain, I came home and have realized that while we need to focus on ourselves, it seems to be a pattern that we focus on someone else. Regardless, I am still a firm believer in both Carrie and Emma's promotion of our own self relationship and loyalty, so if that means we have cold feet now and then, maybe it just means we need to have a hot bubble bath or pedicure.

When I grow up...

School starts in just over a month, and in the midst of setting up wireless, couch hunting, and bedroom decor planning, I have been thinking a lot about returning to school. Spain was, to put it mildly, a bit out of my normal comfort level as far as school goes. We found out our class schedule two weeks into the start of semester.... that seems a bit late, right? For an American type A personality and straight A student, this was near torture. As a planner addict, I was forced to reevaluate what is important on a day to day basis; suddenly school was playing second fiddle to sangria and the beach. When I arrived at CSU in May to take calculus, I was instantly jolted back into the reality of the States. While the weather was thankfully bleak and rainy most of the month I was there, all the hikes I had planned on taking and the hours I anticipated laying by the pool were suddenly consumed with ten to fifteen hours a day (no joke) of math homework and studying. As the class came to a close, the looming final and the desire for an A forced me out of my cozy Spain slacking and into a frenzy of studying. While I did receive an A, this time I have had off, for surgery, gave me a lot of needed thinking opportunities. Life, as I have come to see after having my quarter life crisis on my 20th birthday, goes far too fast. When do we need to step back and say "Maybe that quiz is not as important as taking that hike." While that can't always be the case, if it was then clearly I would not be in college and would be a world class slacker, I do think that on the days my to-do list seems to be so stressful and packed, if I can simply take an hour for God, myself, and nature, that list suddenly seems a lot less important.

I have also been trying to figure out what on Earth I will do this fall. Adding a second major in Journalism seems daunting and scary, yet now that I realized it is what I want, I can't walk away. As each week comes to a close, and August creeps up at a surprisingly rapid pace, the prospect of starting not only my third year of college but adding an additional load of work is going to absolutely test my ability to balance my life.

Last night my dad and I went to a CSU dinner with the Dean of the College of Business, Ajay Menon. He moved to America when he was 19 and attended college in Texas. Now he is the Dean at CSU and was eager to connect me with people like the head of the Philadelphia newspaper who used to run three international news sources. The phrase "when I grow up" is becoming a reality and the "when I grow up I want to be......." statement is hanging over me like a rain cloud and I keep opening an umbrella and telling myself that I am still a baby. Ha. If only. And yet how exciting is it that we are approaching the time when we aren't getting paid $9/hour or wondering if we can even afford cable. At least hopefully we are getting closer to that! So as I get more excited and scared, and my inner nerd starts really longing for campus, I am trying to take the following quote to heart and remember that this is our world, and it's almost our time to change it.

"I love to see a young girl go out and grab the world by the lapels. Life's a bitch. You've got to go out and kick ass." - Maya Angelou

Promiscuous Bears

There is always an awkward moment, when watching any nature show, during which two animals..... mate.

Now, it is hardly as comical as that creepo in the movie Dodgeball, who says to the sexy bank lady...

"We should mate..... date."

Back in seventh grade everyone would awkwardly laugh and shuffle papers around as if each student simultaneously remembered they needed to make a note of that very important appointment/meeting/date they had. In real life though, for fellow nerds who secretly enjoy watching shows like Wild Russia, that unavoidable mating scene can't be handled the same as when we were 13.

Tonight the horny bears in Russia were getting it on like it was their job. The narrator kindly added to the event by commenting that female bears will have multiple partners to make sure they get knocked up. If the bears were smarter, you'd think they would find the biggest and best male and go at it multiple times; no, these frisky ladies want to see what else is out there. And so the question has to be raised: how do you deal with mating scenes in a dating situation? I mean, it's not like we women are out there getting as much action as those female bears, and it is unlikely that many of us watch red beetles getting it on and feel the need to get the romantic mood going. What do you do? Do you sit there and watch, or is that the convenient water break and potty time? If that is what you do, then it is obvious you aren't comfortable with sex. But then if you make a comment like

"Ha, that female bear booked it after, she probably wasn't satisfied, typical." then you sound like a jerk who has bad sex. Or just a jerk who judges bears.

Either way, I feel there should be a go to rule for avoiding awkward sex scenes, either animal or human. Perhaps we should make a standard rule that when the time comes, you simply smile and say "Good for them. Now we won't have an issue with bears going extinct. I was very concerned about that and was considering joining PETA blah blah blah." Then you can jump off into a conversation about how PETA is kind of a joke and that you are a person who enjoys eating tasty animals. Either way, I do recommend that, when the narrator says male bears will often eat cubs, you avoid saying

"EW. What if humans did that....."

Because I promise you, even your sister will think you are gross, and your date will probably be booking it to the door. Kind of like the female bears scarring off to find a new baby daddy.

Happy anniversary, to me!

Happy anniversary, to me.

This marks my one year fast from dating, come to an end. Four texts and one forced fifteen minute conversation later, my two year long, puppy giving relationship was ended over my supposed non-deservingness and my lack of ability to be a good girlfriend. Those included, but were not limited to, being stubborn, wanting to go backpacking, being overly confident, and being unappreciative. One night later he had downgraded from a Ferrari to a beat up minivan (metaphor, please note) and I was spending my Fourth of July on the couch, with a plastic cup stolen from work full of mint chip ice cream, sobbing. The next morning I was woken up to my friend crawling in bed with me, letting me cry for about thirty minutes, and then dragging my ass on a five hour hike upon which I cried, bitched and yelled at my mom, sister, and poor Theresa. I spent the next month in a foolish grovel fest worthy of someone attempting to not be slayed by Voldemort (pardon the HP reference, but the new movie is out in two weeks and it's on my mind.) I'm not saying having my heart broken for the first time wasn't worthy of an Avada Kadavra type shock and horror, but I think I let myself play the broken, dumped victim for a tad too long. It might have been my crying meltdown in France in February that made me realize that despite my pact to stay single for a year, I was still depressed about being alone. That might have been the fear that had allowed me to flow flawlessly from one guy to the next starting at age fifteen, leaving no more than a two week period of alone time between. It took planning and skill, and I luckily had an ever still faithful booty call available for my Catholic girl make outs in trucks instead of the full shag, but whatever it may have been, that period of serial monogamy (save for a few flip ups) made my suddenly single life a huge change. After three and a half years of non-stop boys, my whole heart and my whole family was ready for a bit of a break. Granted, I think my father was 100% serious when he attempted to lure me into signing a contract to stay single until I was thirty, but when I stepped back and had multiple nights to myself I had to wonder what I had been doing dragging all these boys to my house to meet my family. Frankly, I hate that. Don't be friends with my parents because then they want to talk to me about you. And furthermore, what the hell do I do with my nights now that you aren't in the picture? Riddle me THAT.

And so I have spent the last year in a variety of states: depressed over a broken heart, bitter about the lies and rumors that followed, furious at the overly delayed apology, homesick from Spain, and then finally in the spring.... free. I am writing this now, on the Fourth of July, and it comes as such a disappointment in me that I let a guy take my freedom. Now I'm not saying that he chained me to a bed and fed me graham crackers and water for two years, but I let him tell me that who I was wasn't correct. Bitch, please. When you want to tell me I shouldn't be so stubborn I will tell you how I talked down a rude bank manager in Spain and forced him to fix my account issues on three occasions.... in Spanish. Or I will tell you that you can suck it and that when I am your boss in five years you can file a complaint with HR. But for now I am just thrilled that on the Fourth I can finally look at myself and smile. I love me. It's just a fact. I am not sorry at all if you take issue with who I am. I take issue with the fact that our fireworks only lasted 10 minutes and were hyped up to be the best in five states, yet I can't change it and tomorrow I won't care. Sleep on it, and if you hate me tomorrow morning dump me over text messages and you know what? It won't faze me. I realized, one (toned down) negative roommate later, that not everyone is going to like me. If I accidentally date a few of those people, so be it. Because guess what: there are people I would enjoy making fall in a large hole and stay there. But seeing as I don't have that ability... I simply live life around them. Not that I don't get severely agitated and have the urge to crutch them or door them as I drove by, but at the end of the day I am busy reading nerdy things like the Economist and if you want to make my day suck a little that's your own prerogative.

And so that brings us full speed to today. I spent my day on the couch watching trash TV, and spent my night cuddling under the fireworks in a nearly gag inducing cute moment. And then instead of crying on the couch with ice cream, I kissed the boy who I used to think was probably the schools number one player (both of girls and of basketball) and secretly laughing inside at how if you had told me senior year as I judged his tall socks that I would end up dating him in a few summers, I would have told you that you needed to lay off the meth or move to Craig. When he left I watched an MTV special on Taylor Swift. She is my girl crush, it's true. I saw her in Madrid, playing her Speak Now tour, the weekend after Saint Pattie's Day. That had not been my finest night ever, and I'll leave out the details but will tell you a Life Lesson: don't drink vodka and then chug Guinness, no matter how many free Leprechaun hats they are offering you. Her music speaks to every event of the last year of my life to near perfection. And her curls are about enough to make me go blonde. But the greatest thing about her is that she truly is fearless. She will call you out in a chart topper and yet I have spent a year scared to get totally real with myself (let alone write about it on a blog.) I got my ass kicked by heart break last summer. And sometimes it still sucks. Even a year later. But then I look at who I grew into, and how much MORE stubborn I am. I refused to be sad and let it keep me down. I was stubborn for myself, for a change. I spent so long being determined that he deserved the chance and that the future was full of hope. You know what? That is total shit. In general I have realized that boys do not want to change. And if you see an area that needs to change in their life... run away. Most likely you will end up enabling them to NOT change. Because until "that" girl comes along, the one that is worth changing for and pulling their head out of their ass for, you are just wasting your time. And you might think you are that girl... you aren't. Just give up now. And if you get dumped right before he goes to freshmen year of college, here's the deal:

Freshmen boys want to have sex. Lots of sex. And they literally believe that they will show up at the dorms and girls will show up in bunny outfits and start raping them pleasurably. Sorry guys, if that seems rude, but let me ask you: if a hot girl showed up at your door freshmen year, would you have said no? I doubt it. Maybe you still wouldn't, and hey, more fun for you. But girls until you realize that you are worth more than a $40 Halloween costume to show off your boobs and legs and you are worth a guy who waits more than five minutes to get you naked: you are going to have horrible relationships. And even if you do wait for a guy who will wait at least ten minutes.... it still will probably suck! My friend Mark refers to it as "adding to the list of people that are NOT the right one, thus narrowing down the numbers of ones who could be."

Frankly, if you don't know you are worth the universe, you are screwed. And if he doesn't know he is worth more than his six pack abs, he is screwed. Because another fun fact is that there are a lot of bad girls out there, just like bad guys. And so we are left with the heavy burden of sifting through the bad ones and then stumbling upon a good one every couple rounds. Not to say that all guys are good, or bad. My ex was great, he really was. We were best friends and I still care about him. But the shit that went down last summer... not great. The last six months of our relationship was basically us being in denial that it obviously wasn't working. Which is what, after lots of thinking and analyzing, I realized was the issue. When you are not looking out for numero uno (yourself.......) and when you don't listen to what your head and heart are saying, then you are not in a healthy relationship. And if you head AND heart are saying get out, and you still ignore it... you have an issue. Like I did. You have lost yourself and your voice. Speak up! You are worth listening to. And in love, you need to be selfish. Because you deserve the best. Not one below the best or even a percentage less. So be stubborn. Be self-promoting. Be cocky. Because when you realize how great you are, when you do things that make you happy, that you enjoy doing, and you live your life the way you want: that is when you find love. You never hear people say "Well I went looking for a husband and found one." I heard a girl say she was 'going to find her husband that semester" and guess what... nope! You hear about your mom looking across a room at a stranger and knowing. Just knowing. At a dinner at her church for a group of skiers from Steamboat. And then after hiking and kayaking and fishing and doing all the things they loved to do individually, they fell in love. And then you came along and ruined all their fun by puking on them and eating all their food and draining all their energy. (Note.. if that sounds like your current significant other... guess what! That is what babies do! Not respectable adults.)

And so, after the best one year long relationship of my life, I am congratulating myself on how great I am. I would write myself a card and go buy flowers, but I am a cripple and can't. Instead I will go to bed tonight thrilled that I don't have a boyfriend (okay, well he hasn't asked yet but we'll see. The one year mark is over so now I can say yes. If I decide to.) and I have gotten even MORE cocky than I was accused of being before! I am great. It's a fun fact and everyone should know it. Probably I will be famous for how hilarious I am. Like the awesome pick up line I invented and will close with....

Are the seat heaters on? because your ass is SO hot! HAHHAHAAH!

All forms of crutching.

In my absence (which you all were noticing and getting depressed over....) I was busy crutching in the follow places/forms:

Starbucks crutching

Naked crutching

Intoxicated on pain killers crutching

Ninja jumping over things crutching

Transformers 3 crutching

Partially clothed crutching

Pissed off about being on crutches crutching

Speed crutching

One crutch one hop crutching

Feed me now Mom or I will hit you with a crutch crutching

Unfortunately, my life has also consisted of watching every single stupid show on TV all day long and killing my attention span and ability to focus. However, on Wednesday I am off crutches and will (theoretically and hopefully) have more adventures to write about. I lied to you a lot already though, promising to write about more interesting and entertaining experiences, and I failed. Shame. On. Me.

In other news....

Happy Fourth of July! Be glad that you weren't born to parents in Afghanistan or Antarctica.