Meet Lauren

I have always been a philanthropic person - while I don't have much to give financially, I have always been interested in supporting charitable organizations with what little money I have and moreso, my time. When I was younger, I was mostly aware of larger organizations such as Make-a-Wish and St. Jude's (both of which still continue to benefit so many people). I volunteered for a few years at the Medical University of South Carolina Children's Hospital and think its Child Life program is remarkable; I was so blessed to spend time with children and families and hope that anyone who has a sick child will benefit from a program as good as MUSC's.

I stumbled upon Autism Speaks (the organization I work for), knowing virtually nothing about autism. I attended a Walk Now for Autism kick-off event and immediately wanted to become involved - my desire to become a volunteer translated into a full-time job. Seeing the families that are affected by autism has further driven my passion for the cause.

Working for a non-profit organization is a double-edged sword. While most people who work for non-profits are generally philanthropic in nature, you are trained to advocate and fundraise for your cause, primarily. When the economy forces people with already limited needs to have even less, you find it difficult to ask people to support "yet another cause."

I'd have a hard time finding a charity that I don't think is worth supporting. Unfortunately, some of the best charitable organizations are small and don't get the support they deserve. One such is Lauren's First and Goal, a cause that is very dear to me.

I'd like you to meet Lauren, the lucky girl pictured above with Orlando Bloom, who she had the pleasure of meeting recently. Lauren is the recently 12-year-old niece of two of my closest friends; she is also a brain tumor survivor who has been living with a diagnosis of multiple brain and spinal cord tumors, Neurofibramatosis and Evan's Syndrome, since she was nine months old. Read more about Lauren and her story here. Lauren is one of the most sunny, optimistic, unique, loving and courageous people you will ever get the chance to meet. How many 12-year-old girls do you know of that ask for a birthday party themed after "The Office," after all?!

Lauren's First and Goal is a charitable organization created to raise funds to support pediatric brain tumor research, support local pediatric cancer services, provide financial assistance to families living with a pediatric cancer diagnosis and to raise public awareness regarding pediatric brain tumors. The fund is supported primarily by Lauren's First and Goal Football Camp, a non-contact, one day instructional clinic taught by experienced Division I, II and III college coaches. Since the Foundation's inception five years ago, over 5,300 high school players have attended the camp and over half a million dollars has been raised to support research towards a cure for pediatric brain tumors.

Everyone knows that times are tough - but when it comes down to it, we are all luckier than we think we are. Having volunteered at a Children's Hospital taught me how optimistic terminally ill children and their families are - it also reminded me what I can do without to help others.

Take the money you would spend on your morning's Starbucks, that extra pint of beer at happy hour or the cab you took instead of the subway and donate it. I guarantee the benefit you are giving someone else will certainly outweigh what you are giving up.

If you can't donate, help raise awareness. Awareness is the key to fundraising - join the Facebook group for Lauren's First and Goal; link the First and Goal website to your Facebook page.

It's a beautiful Friday here in New York and hearing Lauren's story of meeting Orlando Bloom reminded me that great people DO exist in this world. I'm proud to know so many people who put others first and do what they can to make a difference.

17? Really?!

Spring began this past Friday - or so the calendar claims. I flew out of JFK to Virginia in snow flurries that day. Although the temperature in Virginia Beach probably didn't top 40, we were determined to properly ring in spring by going out that night in tank tops. It's a wardrobe skill I acquired in New York - it doesn't matter how unseasonal your outfit is ... as long as you're wearing a pashmina or scarf.

A few weeks ago we had our first tease of spring. It was a warm, hazy blue skied Sunday and spring fever was in full effect. The boardwalk in front of my apartment was chock full of walkers, joggers, bicyclists, dogs and strollers - everyone eager to put away their winter jackets in favor of short sleeves. Days like that put a smile on your face. Days like that remind you that winter doesn't last forever; you will get off the treadmill and your sneakers will touch real pavement again. You become determined to forgo the winter clothes in your closet, ignoring turtleneck sweaters and woolen pants.

Spring is here, you think triumphantly!

And then Mother Nature smacks you back down, because deep down, she truly is one sadistic bitch. Just over one week until April and the wind chill was 17 this morning. Seven-friggin-teen.

Easter is just a few weeks away - no one wants to wear winter clothes on Easter morning. Kickball starts the next day; I hate trying to play kickball in ten layers of clothes. Opening day at the new Yankees and Mets stadiums is just over a week away. I cannot fathom sitting in a stadium on a day like today. I think I see why baseball just doesn't cut it in Canada.

Let's make a deal, Mother Nature. I'll stop whining when it rains during my morning commute. I won't even complain if we can get the wind chill above 30.

Really, my standards for weather are getting lower by the day.

Green Was the Demise of My G.P.A.

Minus the two years that I waited tables in an Irish pub, St. Patrick's Day has always been my favorite day of the year. Having grown up in New York where the holiday is somewhat of an institution, I was disappointed to find that it was a mere blip on the radar when I moved to Georgia for college. There was a bright spot, though, when I discovered the St. Patrick's Day celebration in Savannah, which was just a few hours away. There was always a catch, though. My first two years of school we were on the trimester system and St. Patrick's Day fell swiftly during midterms. Especially my freshman year, midterms were not going to spoil my fun. Unfortunately, no one else seemed to share my slack-adaisical attitude towards skipping class for green beer; I only hope their GPAs exceeded my stellar 2.3 after their freshman year. The last two years, St. Patrick's Day fell during finals, when we were on the semester system. However, because we had the longest semesters in the history of any college in America (UGA never seemed to excel at figuring out anything administrative), we lucked out my senior year. I was able to convince some friends to head to Savannah with me and we celebrated by the river.

My freshman year, I was without a car for the first time in my life since I got my driver's license. You never realize until you don't have a car how appealing everywhere sounds, but where you are. Athens seemed to be a short drive (well, ride, then) to just about everywhere. If someone was taking a roadtrip and there was an open invite, I was willing to go. Class would definitely take a backseat to traveling and seeing all there was to see.

We went to "The World's Largest Cocktail Party" in Jacksonville. We went to Destin for a weekend at the beach - hell, I even tagged along to Talladega once. By far, the most memorable trip my freshman year was to Mardi Gras. The first thing that made it funny was that I actually called my parents and asked them if I could go. Granted, I was only 17 at the time but I did live like a thousand miles away from them. Somehow, I just felt like they should grant me permission. My friend, who was over 21, assured my mom that I would be well taken care of and that she didn't need to worry about me. In typical college travel fashion, there were about 15 of us in one room with two beds. Also, it happened to be colder in New Orleans than it was in Georgia (and New York, which was even more insane.) Needless to say, I came back deathly ill right before midterms.

I was enrolled in this insane World History Before the Dawn of Time class (at least that's what I thought it was about) that I rarely attended and probably didn't pay attention to when I was in there. I think this was one of the rare moments in my collegiate career when an exam took me by surprise. We were handed a blank map of the world and were expected to draw in and label cities and rivers. I couldn't even label actual present countries on a map now. I handed the blank exam back to the teacher with my drop request attached.

That should have been the first sign that my wanton travels were beginning to affect my grades. At 17, I wasn't entirely sure why I was at school. When I got my final grades for the year (again, a remarkable 2.3 overall), my dad echoed the same sentiment.

My travels and escapades had to take a backseat to class over the next three years. I took fewer spur of the moment trips and made sure that my responsibilities at school wouldn't be affected. And if traveling interfered with class, there was always a plan B.

I took an art appreciation class my sophomore year, which had a 5 p.m. Friday discussion group. Day one when I got my syllabus, I realized this wasn't a viable option, since I spent most of my weekends in Charleston then. My master plan evolved -- two words -- teacher's assistant. I quickly learned that a young-20's TA could be swayed to give you an A for a discussion group you never attended. All it took was attending his mediocre art shows and swooning over his pieces.

By the time four years of college were said and done, I graduated with over a 3.0 AND got to finally celebrate St. Patrick's Day in Savannah.

I took next Tuesday off to celebrate St. Patrick's Day and I've been trying to my hardest to convince everyone to do it with me -- and yet again, it feels like freshman year. Except this time we're not leaving at 2 a.m. and getting stuck in Dothan, Alabama, because we ran out of gas.

Won't You Be My Neighbor ... or not

We're snowed in today in New York. As the picture shows, there is even snow in my apartment. (Actually, what that photo depicts is how poorly sealed my windows and doors are.) Thankfully, I was given the opportunity to avoid the snowy, delay-laden commute to work from my not-so-toasty living room.

My upstairs neighbor is driving me insane.

I wouldn't be complaining if this was an isolated incident, but whoever this person is, s/he has absolutely no etiquette when it comes to common space and downstairs neighbors.

For good reason, I never lived below the top floor of an apartment building since my college dorm until I moved into my current apartment building. Honestly, I don't have many complaints about my neighbors. The girl next to me, who replaced the woman that had extremely loud phone conversations in Spanish, I never see her or hear her. The girl that lives three apartments away from me occasionally has loud parties, but they're not often enough to truly bother me.

I've never in my life complained to any of my neighbors about anything they do. I'm not one of those passive aggressive people who tapes notes to the mailboxes about the volume of someone's TV or three notes on the door about a barking dog. A month or so ago, I was watching my friend's dog when she had to leave town suddenly for a family member's funeral. I knew that when I left the dog, he barked, so I did the best I could to not leave him alone while she was out of town. However, when I had to go back to work that Monday, he must have put on quite a show. I returned home that evening to not one, not two, but three increasingly angry (and detailed) notes from fellow building dwellers that were disrupted. While I felt bad that people were disturbed, the notes were insanely excessive. One person threatened to contact the management company. Really? I've lived here nearly two years and you've never heard a thing before. The funny thing was that not one of the notes was signed.

I have three nominees that I would like to award with "bad neighbor" honors. In third place, guy on the other side of my floor who loves his surround sound television - but seemingly only when watching war movies or playing video games. It's always fun when you feel like you're living "Saving Private Ryan" on a Sunday afternoon.

Second place goes to the girl who lives below me, affectionately known as "F*ck Me Naked," which she was once yelling out to her bed partner at 4 a.m. We have very thin walls in this building - when I play my iPod on the speakers, you can hear it in the hallway. Well, this girl doesn't apply that same logic to her bedroom antics. When I am in bed at 3:30 a.m. and she comes back from the bar, I am always treated an audio performance that rivals amateur porn. Lately, she's been quiet - I guess her social life is slow during winter. There was a time during the summer, though, when she had a partner with the same drive and vocal capacity as she did. I would hear the two of them going at it a good few times a day from when the bars closed until about lunchtime. He, much like her, loved yelling out ridiculous things (see: F**k me naked!), which were totally impossible to tune out while trying to sleep.

And the first place, gold star winner is the person (people) who lives above me. From what I can tell, it is a person and a toddler. It could be two people and a toddler - I'm not entirely sure. Beginning at about 7 a.m. on the weekends, they seem to have parades and foot races. The kid just runs back and forth across the bedroom. Repeatedly. If they could just let the kid run laps in the living room, I wouldn't be woken up at dawn on the weekends. S/he also loves to move furniture. To the best of my knowledge, this person also has a one bedroom apartment. How many different furniture combinations can you really create in an apartment of that size? This person also loves, LOVES to stomp. I'm sure that occasionally, I'm heavy on my feet. I do my best to be cognizant of it, though, and encourage my guests to do the same. I also try to remember to take my shoes off. This person has got to be wearing wooden clogs.

So here I am, today, working from home. The neighbors upstairs has: stomped back and forth across the apartment hundreds of times, allowed the kid to run laps back and forth, drilled something and hammered the floor (are we assembling more furniture to move?), moved MORE furniture (perhaps the new piece we built?) and dropped no fewer than 20 things.

Seriously?

I've gone back and forth in my mind about going upstairs one day and just asking them to be more considerate on weekend mornings. I'm not really in my apartment that much anyhow, and honestly, I should be grateful they chose a weekday afternoon for furniture assembly. I'm quite surprised it wasn't saved for 7 a.m. this Sunday.

The kid is bouncing a ball now.

Awesome.

The Lure of Local News

I love to read the news. Here's the caveat, though - I'm not well-informed, to say the least. Each morning at work, I peruse the news outlets for articles about autism; I'm very well-informed when it comes to autism. Other than that, I primarily read (skim) CNN.com, Newsday, The New York Post and sections of the New York Times.

I'm a sucker for a sensationalist headline - anything that grabs my attention or has the potential to appear in Reuters "Oddly Enough" section. Pretty much, if it's peculiar or ridiculous enough, I've read it. On the other hand, if it has to do with politics, world issues or anything notable, I probably haven't read it.

Even more interesting is that I went to school for journalism. I can plead ignorance with one saving grace - my concentration is in advertising. Guess what? I really hate commercials. Possibly even more than significant world news.

In my opinion, the best news stories can be found on CNN.com in its "US" section. On the bottom left, the site catalogs stories from around the country, culled from local publications. I also should point out that I have a soft spot in my heart for the mostly atrocious quality of local journalism. Local TV journalism is actually the best - go get an ill-fitting suit and some anchorwoman hair. You now have a license to mispronounce names of politicians, countries and diseases while attempting to appear completely legit.

Yesterday, this was my favorite article. Do you think the writer was just praying his editors would let him keep that headline? Either way, awesome.

Today's winner is not chosen for journalistic prowess, but rather for content. Take the time to appreciate the details in this story (i.e. rental car) because they're all really important. I'd personally like to give this guy some type of award. Bravo.

The Customer is (Sometimes) Always (Maybe) Right

[Bobby wants plain toast, which isn't on the menu]
Bobby: I'd like an omelet, plain, and a chicken salad sandwich on wheat toast, no mayonnaise, no butter, no lettuce. And a cup of coffee.
Waitress: A #2, chicken salad sand. Hold the butter, the lettuce, the mayonnaise, and a cup of coffee. Anything else?
Bobby: Yeah, now all you have to do is hold the chicken, bring me the toast, give me a check for the chicken salad sandwich, and you haven't broken any rules.

- "Five Easy Pieces"

My morning began with a craving for home fries, a particular kind of home fries made by a chain cafe near my office. I honestly wanted them enough to venture back out into 20-something degree weather. Here's the catch: they don't sell individual sides on the menu. Once before, I made the attempt to order home fries, bacon and toast (three separate sides), only to be given enough food to feed my entire office. There had to be an easier way.

I looked over the menu and saw an option for "three eggs any style, home fries, bacon and toast" for $5.25. Perfect. I ordered the "#7" and asked her to not include the eggs.

She looked at me blankly.

"I'm allergic to eggs," I replied, "I just want home fries, bacon and toast."

She stares at me, more intently, and then looks down at the register. No verbal acknowledgment.

"I just want the three sides, not the eggs," I repeat, hopefully that would offer some clarity to the situation.

"We can't do that. A number seven is a number seven. They'll get confused in the kitchen." Mind you, there is no one else on line. Business isn't exactly overwhelming at this point.

I then ask her if she can ring the three sides separately. I honestly don't care what it costs. I was more than willing to pay the full amount and not take the eggs. She pauses and starts ringing - I see the first item light up on the register "Platter of bacon" - $4.28.

"No," I interrupt, "I don't need nine pieces of bacon. I'm one person. All I want is a side of bacon, a side of home fries and toast. Can you please just ring the #7 and tell them 'no eggs'?"

Now she is visibly annoyed. Clearly, I've requested a service far outside the boundaries of her job description.

She acquiesces and rolls her eyes at me. I watch (and half listen) as she and the other employees talk trash about me in Spanish. My Spanish skills aren't that strong - I mostly can read ads for divorce attorneys on the subway. I could definitely tell this lady didn't like me, though.

I have had a number of customer service jobs in my lifetime (waitress, hostess, store manager, low level store lackey ...) and have yet to figure out when the concept of polite customer service went by the wayside.

On Saturday, I was walking through Roosevelt Field Mall when I spotted a cute shirt in the window of Hollister. I do realize, before I even relay this story, that perhaps I'm too old for Hollister. Perhaps once you hit size 6, you shouldn't consider buying clothes in Hollister. I swear, there are shorts in that store that could possibly fit my calves (triple-zero, anyone?)

Regardless, I found the shirt and waited behind a gaggle of high school kids to try it on. Upon buttoning the shirt, I realized that the anti-theft sensor was inside the shirt. The inch or so of plastic was pressing against my ribcage and jutting out sideways - just enough to make me question whether or not the shirt was buttoning properly.

I asked the salesgirl if she could remove the sensor - no offense, but I don't fit the profile of "shop thief" at Roosevelt Field Mall. She came back with the shirt and told me that she wasn't allowed to.

I pointed out the location of the sensor to her and asked her if she could at least move the sensor to the outside of the shirt. She, again, walked away with the shirt and returned momentarily with an even more unsatisfactory response.

"My manager said she can't move the sensor. She also said that the shirt probably doesn't fit you and you should just try a bigger size."

Thanks, Hollister staff, for saving me $55.

On a brighter note, the Silo sushi man and I are back on speaking terms ...

The Olives of Holidays

I have a theory regarding olives - I believe that olives are the only food that people either love or hate. I honestly have never met anyone who is ambivalent about olives. And if you're curious, I count myself among the haters.

Valentine's Day is the olives of holidays. The only other holiday that I see as equally loved and hated would be New Year's Eve. Coincidentally, both holidays are geared to couples, but it's not to say that all couples love either. I think the similarity lies in that both have "expectations."

One of my co-workers adamantly declares Valentine's Day (along with Halloween) as his favorite holiday. My best friend hates Valentine's Day; in her words, "I don't believe in Valentine's Day. If you expect the person you're with to give you flowers, take you to an overpriced restaurant or any of the other jacked up crap associated with that day, then your relationship probably sucks. It's a day like any other day. I like a nice card, and that's it." In defense of her comments, she provided a column by someone who appears to be her Valentine's Day soulmate.

One of my closest friends (who recently got engaged) and I have a five year tradition of sending each other flowers on Valentine's Day. It began when we worked in retail together and we've kept it up ever since, whether we were single or attached. My most memorable Valentine's Day took place my senior year of college. I was newly involved with someone who lived in a different state and we weren't spending the day together. In his absence, he sent me flowers and a card. Surprisingly, what made that particular Valentine's Day memorable was going out for a somewhat fancy dinner with some of my girlfriends. After all, we were impoverished college students who rarely dined at places that favored reservations and dressing up. Needless to say, it's not always whether you're single or attached that makes Valentine's Day what it's worth.

You can go out with your friends, as the oh-so-awesome e-card above suggests, to meet undatable alcoholics. You can go out with your friends and possibly meet the guy or girl of your dreams. You can go out with your friends and simply be grateful that you have such amazing people in your life.

You can go to the movies, walk the streets, take yourself out to dinner, or celebrate "friend n fried" style - as Gawker so humorously suggests.

No matter what, be happy and enjoy Valentine's Day tomorrow, and while you're at it, enjoy a new favorite from the NYT's Modern Love archives.

Karma Chameleon

"Life is complicated. Remember the good things that you do. Keep thinking about that. Keep building on that and you'll come to an answer." - Mychal Judge

I woke up today on the right side of the bed - or at least it felt like it. While most days I start the day on an even keel, I rarely feel or appear outwardly happy when I leave for work. This morning, for reasons unknown to me, everything felt just a little bit better. In contrast, my week had been mediocre and slightly disappointing at best; I definitely couldn't pin my good mood this morning on some type of external happening.

In trying to explain it to myself (sad but true, I actually was wondering what inspired my content state of mind), I first attributed the weather. It was over 60 degrees in New York today. Any day that I can wear sunglasses and short sleeves, I'm destined to be in better spirits. Blame that seasonal affected disorder, whatever. I'm always calmer and happier when the weather is better.

But it felt good this morning - taking my morning nap on the train, getting an iced caramel macchiato rather than a hot drink at Starbucks and most significantly, not being cold on my walk to work. Even the normal things which really bother me didn't seem to affect me as they usually do - the guy typing on his Blackberry as he bobbed-and-weaved down the sidewalk on 33rd or the woman who inadvertently blew smoke in my face at a crosswalk.

I was talking to a co-worker this morning and I commented that I was in a really pleasant (yet unexplainable) mood. I was also waiting for the other shoe to drop - for something to stress me out, for something to go wrong, for something to make this much better than average morning go awry.

Lo and behold, my work computer knew how to do it. One thing after another seemed to spiral from that and my mood went south. It wasn't a bad day; it was definitely an average day by the time it ended, though. It seemed like bad karma.

I don't know much of anything about karma in the philosophical-spiritual sense. Rather, I think of it in the most simplistic terms that what you put in, you deserve back. When life seems to throw me curveballs or things aren't going exactly how I want them to, I often think about karma. When I look at my life in a "big picture" sense, there is one thing that I ultimately hope my friends and family believe - that I go out of my way to help people and to make people's lives easier and/or better. I find it personally rewarding to help people who need me, especially those who are important to me.

I go through phases of trying to attend church more regularly and I'm not always so successful. Each year, my attendance seems to spike around Lent. There is a gospel reading about helping people that always seems to resonate with me, even when I hear it reflected upon, year after year. The essential message is this: help people when other people don't see you do it. Give money to someone who doesn't know it came from you. Do something small to brighten someone's day who needs you, not because you expect something from that person in return.

Which brings me back to the concept of karma (and brings me full circle to my opening quote) ...

Although I don't expect anything in exchange for helping those close to me, I hope that the world thanks me for it - hence, good karma. I liked that quote when I stumbled upon it in a book because it lent clarity to what many of us feel: life is complicated and messy. There are many days when we have no idea where it's going or the direction it seems to be headed isn't the one we hoped for.

So what can you do? Just like the quote says. Remember the good things you do. Be a better person and not just because you expect something in exchange. The world may not change, but maybe your attitude will. And hopefully then, you'll come to an answer.

Protecting Your Talent

I wrote half of this post on my Blackberry at 3 in the morning, after waking up from a somewhat strange and surreal dream. The bizarre part wasn’t the dream, but rather what thoughts it inspired. As always, I knew if I didn’t write them down, (or put them in the oft-used “Notes” section of my Blackberry) I wouldn’t remember them this morning.

So here goes the dream: I dreamt that I was swimming laps with a number of people, one being an ex-coworker who was both arrogant and competitive. I remember thinking in the dream that although I was a good swimmer, I wasn’t good enough. I was mentally critiquing my own strokes, expecting that he and others would be doing the same. It wasn’t until later that he asked how I learned to dive, admiring that possibly I could have been better than he was at something.

Here’s what makes the dream interesting: While I can swim well, I’m not a great diver. I swam because my mom didn't let me take dance. Somehow, my intrinsic clumsiness (a.k.a. “bull in the china shop syndrome”) didn’t seem conducive to ballet. With swimming, I was never close to the best but better than many people I knew. I secretly enjoyed knowing that people who could outrun me or do other sports well couldn’t often swim better than I could. I always wanted someone to be in awe of my talent. In anything.

Now for the interpretation: whether you can dive, write or call football plays nine out of 10 times before you see them executed, we all tend to protect our talents for fear of finding out that, well, maybe we're not so unique. Even worse than being common is finding out that perhaps you’re not good at “this” after all, this being what you thought your talent was. For this reason, we tend to end up dating people who aren’t necessarily good at the same things – you want to share interests, but fear that someone could be better than you – and then you won’t be as special anymore.

Since I was a kid, I was always told that I was a good writer. I was used to being complimented by my family, peers and teachers for my creativity and writing ability. Then one day, it was essentially hinted at by someone who is important to me, that maybe I’m not such a great writer. And it stuck. I’ve never been able to reflect upon myself as being as talented anymore and find myself afraid to commiserate with people who are good at the same things as I am.

Some of my best friends are amazing writers, and perhaps, that is one of the pillars that our friendship stands on – a common interest. However, we have a mutual appreciation for each other’s talent and what each of us knows and can bring to the table. There is no inherent fear of competition.

Recently, I dated someone who possessed the complete opposite skill set as me. He was very smart - mechanical, analytical and thought in numbers. On the other hand, he considered himself “functionally illiterate” because he didn’t have the same fluidity with language as I did. His admiration of my talent made me feel special – that I could intellectually bring something to the table that he couldn’t.

After that dream last night, I was reminded that my ability to recognize my own talents is fragile. I will question “if I’m any good” when I compare myself to others, especially others who excel in writing. I’ve never been a competitive person; in some ways, it could be a detriment to me. But just the same, the fear of seeming “less” to someone you want to seem “more” to, will also reign supreme.

Finding What You Need

"What I am to you you do not need
What I am to you is not what you mean to me
You give me miles and miles of mountains and I'll ask for the sea"
- "Volcano"
Damien Rice

One of the best feelings is having a breakthrough - when you finally comprehend (and truly understand) something that you have been told before. It isn't the kind of understanding where someone tells you something and you can repeat back that, yes, you get it. Rather, it's a feeling that you finally understand how it all comes together.

I was a work-study employee for two years in the graduate psychology department at college where I gleaned the benefit of what I call "free advice." I remember sorting through admissions questionnaires with one of the doctoral students and idly discussing relationships. It turned into an interesting conversation about personal needs and how they ultimately effect relationships. At the time, I'm sure that on a cognitive level, I grasped what he was saying.

It has been a good nine years since I had that job. This morning, while walking to work and thinking about my life, I recalled this conversation and finally understood what it meant.

We have friends, family members and significant others who play different roles in our life. While one person may be perfect for someone else, he may not be perfect for you - the reason being that each of us has different needs. Once you can recognize (and even better, verbalize) what it is that you need, you have better odds of finding someone that really works well with you.

It isn't difficult to get along with people, and to be honest, friendships and relationships can drag out as both people act out their parts. It feels completely different, though, when you realize that someone knows exactly what makes you tick and what you personally require.

This all came about when I realized how much I like to laugh. I can't be fully happy being with someone that I don't laugh with - because I'm not being myself. I am definitely happiest with people who make me laugh and let me be myself, stupid humor and all. I appreciate the person who remembers to tell me "good morning" at the start of my day or "sweet dreams" at the end of it, even if it is just a 10 second phone call or a text. I'm affectionate - not in the creepy PDA sort of way - but can't deny that it makes me smile to hold someone's hand or get a kiss on my forehead. I need someone who challenges me to learn more and do more, but doesn't make me feel inept for not already knowing something about everything. I want to be with someone who wants to get to know me - what's important to me and why. The most important thing encompasses all of these little things - I want to be with someone where I am totally comfortable being me.

The funny thing was that simply laughing for a few hours reminded me how easy it is to forget what you need from another person - what makes you feel like you. Suddenly, what had been cloudy for weeks now made sense and everything felt just a little bit better.

The Order in Disorder

When I was younger, I remember looking for my missing shoes when my mom asked me if I had looked in the closet for them. I must have given her a totally bewildered look in response; after all, unless someone else put them away, the last place I expected to find them was in the closet. Perhaps they would be on the floor on the landing or under the bed - but most likely not in my closet.

I've never been a neat and organized "type A" by nature - yet to a certain degree, I always felt I existed better in my own version of chaos. I understand my systems and I know (for the most part) the logical place (by my assertation) to find my belongings.

I go through phases - when I have the time, energy and motivation to do a massive "spring cleaning" I exert the effort to keep order in my home. Otherwise, I generally do the bare minimum to keep it up - do the dishes, clean the bathroom, do my laundry and throw away garbage as needed. In other words, my place may not always be totally organized, but it's not dirty.

Mail is my worst enemy when it comes to keeping my place (and life) in order. Most days, I grab the mail on the way in from work when my hands are already full. It is the first thing to land on the table and often stays there for days on end. By the end of the week, the table is half covered in magazines, catalogs, credit card offers and bills.

As much as I hate to admit it, my life feels more together when it is in order. Surprisingly enough, by taking literally two minutes to make my bed in the morning, my room feels more peaceful and conducive to order.

I realized recently that I had let the first weeks of the year go - I was trying to sort through a few things personally and everything else just seemed, well, less important. Then I decided to take charge and put the pieces back in order. The chaos in my home extended to the chaos in my life - I needed a resurrection of routine. I needed to start eating actual meals again - not just a combination of whatever I could "prepare" in the shortest amount of time and with the fewest number of dishes. I needed to not sleep absurd amounts of hours on the weekend. I needed to keep lists of the errands that needed to be accomplished on the weekend and actually see that they were done. I needed to get back on budget and watch where my money was going. I needed to stop watching "The City" on DVR and start going back to the gym regularly.

I am a believer that when you take steps to "try at life," good things come your way. I always feel like when I was living my life the fullest for myself that things (mostly) seemed to be better. We all deserve a few days (or weeks) to fall out of routine and mope about the things that aren't going our way. But then, you need to wake up and think about what it is that you really want.

It might not seem like throwing away the junk mail and cooking a dinner (just for yourself) are the most exciting and life affirming things. But sometimes just making your bed can bring a little more order to an already chaotic day.

The winter of our discontent?

"For instance, at some point in your year (every year) it seems your life hits a "winter phase" of coldness and darkness with very little growth and fertility - a phase that gets you thinking: 'Oh no. That's it, my life is over. Everything good is gone. The world sucks.' Only to find that ... whaddyaknow ... your winter phase ends and the Spring Law arrives to spring you free into a phase filled with renewal and growth and brightness. Then comes your summer phase, followed by your fall phase, follow by winter, spring, summer, etc ... etc ..."
- how to be HAPPY, dammit
By Karen Salmansohn

The meteorologists say that this is the coldest winter we have experienced in five years - coincidentally the coldest winter we've had since I returned to New York. Not only is the cold bone-chilling, it seems like it snows every single day. I can't remember the last time that it snowed this many days.

I've never understood people who enjoy snow, cold weather and winter in general, being a person who loves to be barefoot and outdoors. I miss the days when I didn't own a winter coat in Charleston, when all I needed was my Patagonia fleece.

I've been sick since last Wednesday with some variant of the cold-flu that everyone in New York is currently harboring. Being sick in the depths of winter essentially transforms you into a "shut-in" - I left my apartment once between Wednesday morning and Friday evening, and that was to go to 7-11 to buy juice and Pop-Tarts. By the time Friday evening rolled around, I was eager to leave the confines of my apartment and to see another face.

Emotionally, winter just feels draining. It feels like everything has just stopped and that time is going to stand still until spring rolls around. Thankfully, we have that hope to hold out to - knowing that sooner or later, change is going to come and life is going to start moving again.

We stand up and brush ourselves off.

We count the days that the sun shines, rather than the days it snows (and hope they outnumber one another!)

We look forward to St. Patrick's Day (my favorite day of the year) which is practically just around the corner.

And we know that things will get better. The Spring Phase of life is coming soon.

"In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer." - Albert Camus

Movies.books.tv

I once went almost two years without seeing a movie in the theaters after paying $12 to see "Elizabethtown." I should point out that I had just moved back to New York and was unfamiliar with paying more than $6 for a movie (with my roughly five year expired student ID), but it truly says something about a movie when it inspires you to stop going to see them, altogether. I eventually started going back to see movies, but I'm not what one calls an avid moviegoer. I tend to see previews for movies and then add them to my Netflix queue - eventually the movies will make their way to my mailbox. For this reason alone, it was surprising that I saw two "current" movies this past week - "Marley & Me" and "The Reader."

A friend had proposed seeing "Marley & Me" as a New Year's afternoon outing - while it wasn't a movie that I was dying to see, getting out of my apartment and spending the day with friends seemed like a good idea. Now I won't ruin it for you (in case you are planning to see it) but my other friend revealed a KEY DETAIL regarding the movie, the night before we saw it. It then became known as "the movie where (fill in the blank with spoiler)." All in all, a cute movie - nothing cinematically spectacular, but a fun afternoon distraction.

On Friday, my mom and I planned to see "Australia" - although I heard less than spectacular things about it, my love for Baz Luhrmann was enough inspiration to go ("Moulin Rouge" is one of my all-time favorite films). Sad but true, it was already out of the theaters. Determined to still see a movie together, we looked through the listings and chose "The Reader." "The Reader" could also be known as "the movie where Kate Winslet is topless for 80% of it." I swear, every other scene showed Kate without a top. It was a strange movie - at times I liked it, at times it dragged. It was also a little more depressing than what I really needed to be watching.

My Netflix rental this week was a movie that I was very excited about, ever since it premiered at Sundance - "American Teen." While I was quite a fan of "Laguna Beach" (and should subsequently be ashamed to admit that), this documentary probably hits home for more people as to what high school is really like in most of the country. Parts of it must have appealed to the side of me that loved "Freaks and Geeks" - while it is fun to sometimes delve into escapism, a little dose of reality is good every once and again. If you watch it, let me know if you were as disgusted by Megan as I was.

I read a book this past week that I don't recommend and I am partway into a book that I actually like quite a bit. "Hurry Down Sunshine" by Michael Greenberg gets a big thumbs-down. I first read a review of this book in New York and added it to my "to-read" queue - upon reading it, I was nothing except disappointed. I think the book focused too much on the dysfunction of all the adults and their relationships. I also am sort-of intolerant of people who use New Age philosophy as a cover/cure for mental illness.

On the other hand, I just started "The Book of Mychal" by Michael Daly and I am truly enjoying it. This biography is about Father Mychal Judge, the iconic priest who served as the chaplain of the FDNY and died in the Twin Towers collapse. I am only about five chapters deep but it is refreshing to read about someone who pursued the Catholic priesthood knowing that he wanted to be a different kind of priest. Where so much of religion is centered on judgment and "not listening", Father Mychal was determined to bring the exact opposite to Catholicism. The more I read of this book and his life, the more I realize what Catholicism (and religion as a whole) is supposed to stand for.

Firing up the DVR ... "Gossip Girl" is back this week and we've got another episode of "Intervention" tonight (hopefully significantly less disgusting than last week's feeding tube gem). We've got "The City" tonight, which reinforces everything I dislike about New York and could be even worse than "The Hills." Last but not least, "Real World: Brooklyn" starts on Wednesday. I haven't watched the "Real World" since Seattle (1997? maybe?) but I'm curious about this one.

The Last Hours of 2008

New Year's Eve has traditionally not been one of my favorite holidays; expectations wise, you could probably put it on par with Valentine's Day. Though I can't really remember a New Year's Eve that I absolutely loved (I can remember one Valentine's Day, though), I continue to attempt to celebrate it every year.

Plain and simple - the weather absolutely sucks in New York today. The roads are perilously covered in layers of water, black ice, snow and more ice. The temperature is in the 20s right now and is working its way down to single digits. The wind is blowing in circles (a la the Patriots-Bills game this past weekend) - uprights couldn't stand a chance outside my apartment right now. By morning, the wind chill will probably hit zero, according to the Weather Channel. Yet, I am doing what I do best - choosing an absolutely unseasonable outfit to wear out tonight in hopes of ringing in a better 2009. Nothing says I respect northern winter weather like a sleeveless dress with bare legs and open toed shoes ...

I've mentioned before that I'm mildly superstitious - one of those superstitions relates to New Year's Eve. I wish I could remember when or where I heard it and on days like today, I wish I never had. I once heard that how you spend New Year's Eve reflects what your coming year is going to be like. So being superstitious and already having the cards stacked against my NYE 2008, I am hoping to defeat the odds for 2009.

When I ring in 2009, he who should have been my NYE date will be working (if you're planning to drive after drinking tonight, stay out of East Rockaway ...) and I will be out with one of my best friends, braving the cold (in my oh-so-cute $19 party dress from Nordstrom) and enjoying a flute of champagne. Tomorrow morning starts a new year and Kristen's Facebook status says it best - "Kristen has decided to focus on what's going to make her happy in 2009 after spending the day at the happiest place on earth."

So raise a glass and toast to better times in 2009 - hoping that superstitions don't always come true.

Another top ten list

About ten years ago, MTV aired one of the greatest countdown specials ever - the top 25 lamest videos of all time. Supposedly, after showing the 25 videos, the reels would be destroyed, never to be shown again. If this is the case, future generations will certainly lose out. While many of the below videos are from that special, I have a few additional favorites.

In no particular order, I give you my top ten best videos of all time.



10. "Oh Sherrie" by Steve Perry
Note that "Sherrie" (his actual girlfriend at the time) is actually in this video, sporting a sexy white dress. Does anyone actually understand the point of the proposed medieval plotline? Be sure to pause right before he comes down the stairs - his jeans really need to be tighter. I also love when he uses a broom as a guitar. Epic.



9. "Rosanna" by Toto
I love her dramatic ponytail flip (~0:30) and the mug on the lead singer. He sings with so much emotion.



8. "Rock Me Tonite" by Billy Squier
Is it his Flashdance get-up? His flouncing in a pink leotard on the floor of his loft? His pole dancing? I do love the way he tosses his laundry about the room.

7. "Separate Ways" by Journey
This video cannot be embedded, but it can be linked. It absolutely must be included in this list. I love this woman, all decked out in her tight leather skirt and high heels, walking around in a lumberyard on a dock. I love Steve Perry's shirt from Chess King. I love the way their instruments materialize, as if from thin air. I love the way Journey materializes from thin air. No one sings with more emotion than Steve Perry - not the seven lead singers from Journey that have followed him or even that guy from Toto. No one.



6. "After the Rain" - by Nelson
I think I owned this cassingle. I always hope that when I get in a fight with my parents, that my bedside Nelson poster will come to life and save me. I also love the dramatic use of Native Americans, feathers and perms in this video.



5. "Escape" by Rupert Holmes
Everyone knows that I love this song. I may love Rupert Holmes even more after seeing this performance. So it's not a traditional "music video" ... but that doesn't make it any less fabulous.



4. "November Rain" by Guns n Roses
God, I loved this song and video when I was in junior high. I even thought that skanky wedding dress was pretty hot. Does anyone really know what really happened in this video? I just love the rain ... the cake ... Slash jamming on the guitar in front of the church.

3. "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" by Wham!
Another one that can't be embedded - so sad! Appreciate the "Choose Life" shirts, George Michael's short-shorts and fabulous gloves ... the lighting, the effects, his chunky back-up dancers. Excellent, all around.

2. "Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm" by Crash Test Dummies
Another non-embed! I think this video was about child abuse, but I can't get past the creepy expressions on his face when he hums. I think they're Canadian, too. Is this what children's theater looks like in the land up North?



1. "Opposites Attract" by Paula Abdul
So I owned this cassette, too. I owned the trifecta at age nine(ish) - Debbie Gibson, Tiffany and Paula Abdul. Then I segued into hair bands. What is with this video? Was the animation supposed to be new and cool? Horrid.

Christmas Magic

"I wish I could just stop
I know another moment will break my heart
Too many tears
Too many times
Too many years
I've cried for you
It's always the same"
- "From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea"
The Cure

I wrote possibly the longest "apology" that I have ever written in my life today; the e-mail was actually 2,452 words. I can guess that only three paragraphs were devoted to the actual apology. I made that last night. The rest of it was everything I had wanted to say before, but either couldn't find the words for, or was to scared to say.

The sad thing is that the more friends I tell the story to, it turns out that I'm not exactly at fault. It's not to say that I didn't do something that was wrong - but I could be putting my efforts somewhere that they don't belong.

I once read that you should never shed tears for someone who you know won't cry over you. I wish my head could overrule my heart. I wish that I could go back 24 hours in time and not make the same mistake again. But I tell myself - people make mistakes. We're not meant to be perfect. The best I can do is apologize and hope to be forgiven.

Unfortunately, we can't control when things go bad. Yet somehow it seems harder to be dealing with fallout right before Christmas. Christmas seems like a time when everything should be perfect ... or as perfect as it could be.

Is it possible to still believe in Christmas magic, even when you're 29 years old?

"It was the hope of all we might have been
That filled me with the hope to wish impossible things
But now the sun shines cold
And all the sky is grey
The stars are dimmed by clouds and tears
And all I wish is gone away"
- "To Wish Impossible Things"
The Cure

Good Luck Jen

"My entire life, I've been nothing more than a stepping-stone to every relationship I've ever been in. There's always been a next guy who's better than me. For once in my life, I want to be that next guy." - Charlie, "Good Luck Chuck"

I probably would never have seen this movie had I not thought it was written about my life. The only solace I find is that someone else was in the exact same predicament as I am - you'd have to be, to come up with this plotline.

For those of you who haven't seen the movie, here's the IMDB synapsis: "In order to keep the woman of his dreams from falling for another guy, Charlie Logan has to break the curse that has made him wildly popular with single women: Sleep with Charlie once, and the next man you meet will be your true love." Basically substitute "date" for "sleep with," and you've got my life for the past ten years.

Everyone I date marries the girl he dates after me. At first I thought it was a coincidence. Then I chalked it up to growing older. Now I am starting to think it's a curse, as I discovered today that yet another guy I dated is getting married to the girl he began dating after me. For the most part, the guys have been pretty insignificant, and the ones who did matter, I was more or less over by the time I was notified of their pending nuptials.

Today's news came on the tail of a not-so-great week, which is why it may have bothered me more than it should. While I just got back last night from a great vacation out west which involved everything from hiking to drinking to snowboarding, my mind was battling something that was left wide open before I left - and to be honest, it still is.

Every vacation has a soundtrack, songs that you overplay that always remind you of a person and of a place. For this trip it was "The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot." Thanks a lot, XM, for introducing me to this song exactly when I didn't need it.

"I hope you find out what you want
I already know what I am"
- The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot
Brand New

"What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?" - "High Fidelity"

Happiest

"Today is the greatest day
I've ever known
Can't live for tomorrow
Tomorrow's much too long"
- "Today"
Smashing Pumpkins

I was in my car the other day thinking about the last time in my life that I was happiest - not to be confused with "happy" but truly "happiest." The funny thing about remembering your life in retrospect is that you know that life was never perfect. Yet you can remember certain phases of your life as seeming pretty close to it. When you're truly happy, life's ups and downs don't hit you as hard and things that would bother you on other days don't even seem to register.

I will always remember the spring of my sophomore year of college as being "The Greatest Time of My Life." I was 18-19 years old, in love for the first time, making the best grades I had ever made and the future seemed nothing but bright. It was a time of many firsts and I remember feeling like my entire world was ahead of me. It sounds cliche, but it was true. It felt like everything I had waited for in my life was finally there.

The last time in my life that I remember being truly happy for an extended period of time was in early 2004. I was living in Charleston and had just began a new job after a solid year of hunting. I was in the early stages of dating someone that I quickly fell unreasonably head over heels for (one of the moments when you know your heart clearly overruled your head). I was running almost daily and I felt full of energy. My days and nights were always full and life just seemed in its simplest form to be full and complete.

It was easy to see why it didn't stay that way as each of the positives took a turn for the negative. I went through a prolonged and confusing break-up with said boyfriend. The job turned out to be less than expected, leading me to resign at year's end. The next year, I moved back to New York.

It's not to say that I haven't been happy with my life since, or in New York in general. I have a wonderful job and I have good friends who are always fun to be with. Just the same, I look back with a sense of wistfulness for a time like that again.

As you get older, your expectations change. Even though there will be better and stronger loves in your life, there will never be a second "first love." There will never be another "first job out of college" or another 25th birthday. It becomes even harder to feel truly happy when the things you looked forward to about getting older don't seem to be happening - life seems to stand still.

If you have love you don't need to have anything else. If you don't have it it doesn't matter much what else you do have." - J.M. Barrie

Super Me

David Bailey: All or nothing. Tonight I'll be the super me.
Steve Dunne: What if the super you meets the super her and the super her rejects the super you?
David Bailey: Then it's no problem.
Steve Dunne: Uh-huh. Why?
David Bailey: Because it was never you, it was just an act. I live my life like a French movie, Steve.
- “Singles”

For anyone who knows me, it was a sign of the apocalypse. His criticism was that I don’t talk enough – words I have definitely never heard before. After a month and a half, he felt like he didn’t know me at all and that perhaps we didn’t “click” – we spent too much time in silence and that I didn’t seem to have any real opinions about anything. Basically, he could tell that, at times, there were things I wanted to say to him but that I was more or less looking at him with a “blank stare.”

In trying to be the super me, I had become my own worst enemy – a Stepford Wife: fawning, submissive, quiet and rather un-opinionated. And the super me was rejected.

I was trying too hard. I felt that by being quiet, unassuming, agreeable and interested, I was putting forth the perfect version of myself … except it wasn’t me. At what point do we become afraid to be ourselves - that who we are isn’t enough to offer someone?

I knew I was doing it, but I didn’t realize that it was having the completely wrong effect. I was wrongly trying to let someone who I really liked, get to know someone that wasn’t me at all. Don’t get me wrong – I wasn’t completely pretending to be someone I’m not. I honestly believe that I am a person who cares about others and feels rewarded in knowing that I make those around me happy.

But I’m not a doormat. I’m not quiet. I’m actually kind of obnoxiously talkative. I tend to tell people more about me than they need to know upfront. I have opinions on just about anything, even though I hate to argue. I’m rarely assertive, though, and it takes awhile for me to become truly comfortable being an honest version of myself with others.

Learning to communicate is one of the biggest obstacles that couples face. I regret that I didn’t feel confident enough to be myself – that I was scared it wasn’t enough. While I am hopeful that second chances can be had and that this can be given a viable shot, sometimes all you can gain is experience … and hope not to make a similar mistake in the future.

Siriusly?

Five days a week, I drive less than a mile per day - to and from the train station. The other days, I don't drive a whole lot more; I run errands, visit friends and occasionally take the trip to my parents' house. I could not live without my XM Radio, though.

When satellite radio first came out, I knew that I had to have it. Anyone who has ridden in the car with me can vouch that I am completely ADD when it comes to the radio. I will flip through my 30 preset stations in search of the perfect song and then do it all over again when the song ends. I love that satellite radio has very little talk, great variety of genres and often plays songs that you wouldn't otherwise hear. Satellite radio also keeps you from being punished by "whatever the local flavor is" - i.e. country and Christian rock in the south, Spanish music in Arizona ... I've been subjected to it all on road trips.

For the past year or so, there were rumblings of a Sirius/XM merger. Anyone who pays for each service adamantly believes s/he has the better satellite radio offering. Months rolled on and everyone wondered how the merger would take place - would one company overtake the other? I was happy with XM the way it was.

Then one morning a few weeks ago, I turned on my car to find that "Ethel" had been replaced with "Alt Nation." "Lucy" had been overtaken by "Lithium" and I suddenly had an entire station dedicated to the Grateful Dead. The companies silently merged the two station offerings, leaving the listener with Sirius/XM - a cornucopia of radio stations.

Presets were supposed to remain the same genre - in other words, Lucy played "alt-90s rock." Sirius' version, Lithium, theoretically plays the same thing. However, I've noticed one thing thus far - Sirius repeats songs. A lot. I didn't notice this as much with XM (with the exception of "Into the Night" by Benny Mendones, "Danny's Song" by Loggins & Messina and "September" by Earth, Wind and Fire). I feel as though I have heard "Wrong Way" by Sublime about 140 times in the last week.

Don't get me wrong - XM is not without its own share of problems. I was highly disappointed when, last month, they pre-empted the ska/hardcore/punk station with a 24-7 AC/DC station. Um, seriously? I didn't even think AC/DC had enough songs to fill a day's worth of programming, let alone an entire permanent station. Ew.

Another issue is in the XM hardware. I think I have one of the oldest radios that XM sold - it runs through the cassette deck in my car. When I inquired about putting in a new radio, they told me that the entire system would have to be rewired - you couldn't simply plug and play.

As of this morning, I think my XM has become possessed. I pressed the "memory" button and it started flipping through stations and refusing to stop on one to listen. Then, after I unplugged it in a moment of fury, it got stuck on Lithium and played the same song by Garbage three times in a row.

Siriusly - what gives?