My Stocking is Stuffed

This holiday season, I am feeling a distinct sense of realization and perspective...in a good way. Like at the end of The Usual Suspects. I mean how great is that moment...when you're watching that final scene and every stinking thing is coming together and you're just like:

Don't get me wrong, I'm still distinctly confused and lost in the weeds of a new "life," per se, but it's a controlled chaos...a contained confusion. In other words, I recognize that I have no idea what I am doing, but I on the same token, I have this persistent feeling that soon enough, my head will be above water. I'll get there.

Maybe it's because working full-time for the first time has been a little draining. I have my Monday-Friday routine and I get in the zone, but it's hard to have motivation to do much on the weekends, let alone weeknights, when all I really want to do is this:

Maybe it's because of things like this:

A story about amazing people with amazing hearts. And wee little pups with missing teeth and half a jaw that still jump around in merriment and give kisses galore.

Maybe it's because I recently got hooked on Parks & Recreation, and it engulfs me in warm fuzzies...and because Leslie Knope, while being admittedly bananas, is the epitome of a class-act humanoid. Moreover, she sees no shame in excessive waffle and whipped cream consumption.

And Ron Swanson is...f*cking Ron Swanson.

Maybe it's because I've been watching a lot of TV in general lately, and all of these Christmas episodes have me feeling cheesy and nostalgic (especially the old school ones..."A Very Topanga Christmas," anyone?). Conveniently enough, these shows have made a noticeable resurgence in my life, as my mornings now very much mirror those of the past. The hour between 7am and 8am used to be spent watching Boy Meets World and Saved By The Bell before school. Now that hour is spent doing the exact same thing...before work.

Maybe it's because I'm soaking up that tried and true notion that I have my "whole life ahead of me," and no matter how badly a given day may pan out, I am not trapped, this is not the end, these are not the droids I was looking for. The DC lifestyle, government consulting, and good old DMV (DC, Maryland, Virginia) traffic are only going to improve my patience (I HAVE to believe this). What I am struggling with now will not be a forever struggle (though I fear my addiction to Wheat Thins is here to stay). 

Maybe it's because of people like my dear friend Richie...(one of those friends that "stuck") who quit his job and went back to school in an admirable fashion... to pursue what he really wanted to do. I think many of us wish we had the guts to do something like that. He designed a few custom holiday cards for yours truly on Adobe Fireworks, which positively delighted me. He kind of rocks.

Maybe at the crux of this is the biggest cliché of all: the fact that I actually moved away from the comforts of home. Only people who grew up townies of State College can truly understand this particular kind of comfort (because it is unique to State College...but if your from somewhere else don't get your panties in a bunch--your home is unique and great too, yadda yadda yadda). But having grown up in this here bubble of ours, actually moving away brings a whole new perspective to life. State College is generally protected from the outside world. The worst part of the storm usually goes around us, the "big" crimes involve drunken brawls outside Canyon Pizza at 3am, and running outside at 10pm is something I never barely even thought twice about. The people are loyal, proud, and kind, the town is just big and small enough, things like great hiking, running, sports, etc. are easily accessible, the bars have good beer (and often have their own breweries), the restaurants have good food, and...Wegmans. And...in the face of the greatest adveristy this town has ever seen, we are just fine. Battered and bruised, yeah, a little...'tis but a scratch...

So I guess what I'm trying to say is that some random combination of things, from TV shows to relocations have brought me a greater appreciation...a deeper perspective...and a stocking stuffed to the brim with lovin' and love to give. I can't pinpoint what exactly this means or how I got here, but even the slightest nugget of wisdom, feeling of awareness, sense of direction, consciousness, and perspective help remind me of what is important, where I am headed, and where I want to be.

If you're stressed out about the holiday season...just stop. If you're the reason why someone else is stressed out about the holiday season...just stop. As one of my favorite Irishmen and writers, Oscar Wilde, says: "Life is far too important a thing to ever talk seriously about."

Cheers, y'all.

Today, I am thankful.

I am thankful for the weeks when the "Buy One Get One" deal at the grocery store is Wheat Thins.

I am thankful for the long runs that involve smiling uncontrollably the entire time. Those runs when my knees bend seamlessly, no kinks. When my feet feel lighter than Cheesy Poofs and are impeccably pain free. When each step brings me closer to relative sanity. When oncoming runners and I exchange a warm smile and "the nod." When passing bikers ding their little bells and say, "On your left!" AKA "Don't move or you'll get run over...k thanks!" Those runs where all of the things that that keep my mind up at night just fade into the background while perspective breaks through. Those are the runs that remind me why I don't care in the least about having Hobbit feet or bloody socks on a regular basis.

I am thankful for hair clips and headbands, because without them, I would appear to be in a constant state of electric shock. 

I am thankful for ketchup because it can make even the grossest foods taste good.

I am thankful when people who know me and my carbaholic-ism know to save pizza crust, ends of hot dog/hamburger buns, last bites of tortillas, etc...and don't judge me when I giddily accept said donations.

I am thankful for pundits, Fox News, CNN, people complaining about politics in general...because that just means we are able to speak freely. Even if that means putting up with Bill O'Reilly.

I am thankful for marathons of F.R.I.E.N.D.S, Modern Family, The Office, Parks & Recreation, and Boy Meets World. Even the worst days can be salvaged by these shows.

I am thankful for skirts/dresses with pockets. Ladies will understand why this is one of the most pleasant surprises ever.

I am thankful for Jason Bateman because...

 

I am thankful for hugs. And not just normal "Hey, haven't seen you in a while," or "Good to see you...buh-bye now" hugs (though those are great too)...I'm talking about those hugs where neither hugger wants to do anything but hug tighter. Those hugs where your whole body is hugging and smiling and hugging some more. Those hugs that elicit the deepest relief and/or the most exhilarating giddiness. 

I am thankful for people who let me merge in front of them without having to see the look on my face that, perhaps, indicates that I have accepted the impending doom of my final moments being spent in a tizzy of road rage on the Capital Beltway.

 

• OLIVER.

I am thankful for those who have forgiven me for being an idiot. The people who have understood me and accepted my flaws, even if those flaws are no excuse for the aforementioned idiocy. I am thankful for second chances and for those who have helped me become a better version of myself (still working toward that "best" version).

I am thankful for friendships that have recently sprouted.

I am thankful for friendships that have cultivated and lasted. The ones where both parties want nothing more than to bend over backwards to keep in touch, spread the love, and make it work. The friendships that just stick. At your best, at your worst, there is no shame...just love. 

 

I am thankful for heartbreak, because it reminds me how capable I am of feeling...and how much love I have to offer. 

I am thankful for teachers. 

I am thankful that in the wake of so much sadness, there is an outpouring of love and support. I am thankful that even though it sometimes takes tragedy to make this notion apparent, it is still there nonetheless.

I am thankful that I have a list of things to be thankful for...and this list doesn't even cover 1/100th of the truth.

And lastly, I am thankful that love is all around.

Keepin' My Wheat Thins to Myself: Thoughts On Living Alone

When I tell people I live alone, I usually get one of the following responses:

Intense jealousy: 

Intense shock:

Both of these responses leave me feeling a little odd. By that I mean, I simply don't know how to respond (especially in the moment). Therefore, I usually have the same response for both: "Heh." While this response is obviously informative, thoughtful, and insightful...I have come up with a better one, which I will share with you all...right now.

Let me first preface this with one little nugget: Yes, I live alone. That does not mean, however, that I am a hermit crab-esque agoraphobiac (look it up), an angry people-hater, or spending all of my time in secret, concocting a love potion/plotting to kidnap Jason Bateman and/or Paul Rudd.

Moving on. So yes, I live alone, and it's lovely (right now of course...eventually someone will be stuck with me...hopefully? And it's not that I am against having a roommate, but that doesn't mean that living alone can't be stupendous). 

Here are my top ten reasons why at this point in my life, living alone is like living a in a vat of Awesome Sauce:

1.) Clothes are always optional, never required (sorry for TMI Ma & Pops...and Seany). I think most people who live alone would list this as a win though. Not much is better than getting out of the shower in my straight-out-the-womb attire, making some coffee, watching Boy Meets World, checking my e-mail (my work e-mail, no less), eating some grub, brushing my teeth...all before even considering putting pants on.

2.) There's something about another person's hair in the shower that is just so much grosser than my own hair in the shower. 

3.) If I want to do a core workout in the middle of my living room to the tune of the Lord of the Rings and/or The Dark Knight soundtracks, I can do so without any background noise interrupting my zen (bet you thought I would say "without being judged..."--heck no. I have no shame!)

4.) My messes are my own and that's how I like them.

5.) I have never been on the delivery (D) or receiving (R) end of any of the following:

• "Your hard-boiled egg addiction is stinking up the apartment." (D)
• "If hear 'Gangnam Style' one more time I will go Chuck Norris Style on everything you own." (D)
• "If you insist on bringing large groups home in the wee hours of the morning, I insist on blockading the door and/or setting up booby traps every time you go out." (D)
• "I needed to charge my iPod, so I plugged it into your computer, but it auto-erased all of your music." (R)
•  "Oh your Wheat Thins? I thought they were up for grabs." (R)
• "I ate a lot of Indian food today so...yeah, advanced apologies." (D or R)

6.) My bedtime is determined solely upon how many more episodes of Parks & Rec on Netflix my eyes can stay open for...and nothing else.

7.) It is perfectly acceptable to have a refrigerator containing lots of ketchup and little of anything else.

8.) If I just want to have a good cry, I don't have to explain it or worry about someone worrying about me.

9.) I can shout nonsensical insults at Carrie from Homeland, laugh obnoxiously at Cam from Modern Family, and fawn over how adorable Jimmy Fallon is without even thinking twice about what an observer may be thinking.

10.) The TV remote is mine. There will be no "Real Housewives of Anywhere" on...EVER.

 

 So for now, I am...

...because solo ain't so bad.

Let's Get Together & Be Awkward

The tech-splosion of late is unavoidable...and naturally has many worried about increasingly impersonal relationships in the real world, and rightfully so. Now, even when we are in the presence of other people, our iPods, iPhones, iPads, etc. not only distract us, but literally prevent us from communicating. They became our iLives. I think that we can all attest to this. In addition to essentially prohibiting the development of meaningful relationships, this phenomenon has simultaneously lead to the development of uniquely odd, fleeting, "I kind of know you" relationships.

I have perfected this art with a wide array of people since moving to DC. Allow me to elaborate. The following three groups have been added to my social circle:

1.) The people who ride in the same metro car, at the same time as me, nearly every day

I like to call us the Metro-gnomes (because it's punny...deal with it). Together, we share awkward glances, silent nods, mini head shakes/laughs, and those wonderful moments when we all walk to the door while the car is still moving.

Together we sit in silence, adjusting earphones, hastily checking phones (despite a severe lack of cell service), reading Nooks, reading Kindles, reading iPads...etc, etc, etc. But I'd bet money that if we saw each other outside of the DC metro system, we would have a moment of recognition and share some sort of acknowledgement that I feel is unfortunately most akin to a "bro nod."

2.) The regulars at the tiny gym in my apartment complex

This group can be broken down into two subgroups (weekday and weekend gym-goers), but they are essentially one entity.  We all stare in disbelief at the crazy Lululemon-clad mom who brings her infant child and leaves it in the corner. We all judge in unison when "new" people entire our domain and walk slowly on the treadmill for an hour. Together, we are bound by the gym...and the independence of our iPods. We are all in the same, obnoxiously silent room (no music...just the sound of barbells and treadmills), which inevitably means that we are attached to said iPods. This has generated interesting hallway and elevator moments, awkward run-ins at the Whole Foods next door, and strange post-it notes left on doors (ok...maybe that was just me)...Story time!

Meet "Gym Guy." His name is Gym Guy because he is a guy who goes to the gym, and also because he signed the post-it note that he left on my door "Gym Guy." Let me explain. There was a period of time where I saw the same guy at the gym nearly every day for a few weeks. One day, as I was innocently opening the door of my apartment, this guy just so happened to walk by. We shared the typical and practiced, "Oh! Hello...you!" and then went on our merry way.

Fast-forward to the next day. I saw the same dude at the gym. He left before me. I finished up my workout and ventured upstairs. As I walked down the hallway, I spied an odd shadow on my door (this is even better if you have been to my apartment, as my door is at the very end of the hallway, and therefore could arguably have been directly pulled from a scene in "The Shining"). Upon arrival, I noticed a blue Post-It note that read: 

"Gym Girl-

Grab a beer tonight?

Gym Guy

###-###-####"

I know what half of you are thinking: "Awwww that is soooo cute! And the other half of you are thinking: "CREEPER ALERT!"

I was somewhere in the middle. Keep in mind that aside from one run-in in the hallway, I have never exchanged words with this guy. I pat him on the back for his his balls (get your mind out of the gutter and respect the intended expression). But I didn't call him. I have seen him at the gym since, but it's still awkward glances and headphones. Since then I have learned that Gym Guy has two children? Yeah...turns out his apartment is literally across the hall. I have run into his little ones multiple times...Sometimes I do want to knock on his door to tell him I can hear him singing along to Katy Perry though (this is 100% true). Anywho...story END.

Back on track, the gym/iPod epidemic is evidenced by the raw, sheer panic on the face of a gym-goer as they rummage through their belongings, unable to accept the reality of a forgotten iPod (never mind the fact that they live in the building and can easily retrieve said iPod...the terror remains). 

3.) The Facebook/Twitter Folk

I'm not talking about family and friends I keep in touch with on the good old FB...or Stephen Colbert and Seth MacFarlane on the Tweet-o-sphere. I'm talking about the people I correspond with solely online and never in person. The people on Facebook that maybe I kind of knew in college, but now we're FBBFFs (I just made that acronym up...as they say on Twitter #WINNING...no?) and the people on Twitter I jaunt with, but have never met. I have occasionally run into these people in person and it's not that it is a bad encounter by any stretch, it's just all...

So where does this leaves us...? I don't know, exactly. Pretty soon we will all be blind from screen glares and deaf from earphones, so maybe it doesn't matter anyway. 

Besides...Zombies are coming...

 And the world is ending in a week or so.

So make the most of everyday, folks! Keep up those crazy awk-sauce relationships, but start talking too (texting is grand and all, but that is one plague that I actually worry about. Not only should you be able to walk the walk and talk the talk...you gotta be able to text the text...AND talk). I for one have been caught in text battles where my fingers can't keep up with my thoughts and I end up more worked up than I would have otherwise been. Not to mention the general misinterpretation that often comes with texting (a period and not an exclamation point? You MUST be mad...ooh a smiley? YOU LOVE ME!) What if I had just CALLED the person? Or I don't know, talked IN PERSON?  

(I realize distance plays a factor, but stilll...)




 Moreover, "liking," "favoriting," and "retweeting" are all well and good (in fact they're great...so by all means, retweet this...), but hugging is better. Hugging is way better.

Peace, love, and Cocoa Puffs.

Don't Make Me Go Chuck Norris On You

I met a girl at a bar who spent five minutes trying to convince me that Joe Paterno was a rapist. 

"No, no, no...he is. Who is Jerry?" 

I wish I was making this up. I'm actually surprised that the conversation lasted long as long as it did. Unfortunately, the most prominent conversation starter among my peers involves the burning question: "what school did you go to?" After listening to her drone on about a "small liberal arts college" in upstate New York, and the riveting "think tank" she works at now in DC, I responded to her with a simple: "I went to Penn State." 

If you'd been watching this on TV with the sound off, you would have thought I had just told her that Prince William and Kate Middleton were getting divorced. Or that Starbucks was discontinuing Skinny Lattes.

I vividly remember making eye contact with my coworker...eye contact that completely communicated: "You are going to need to remove your friend before this happens:"

It wasn't just that she was woefully misinformed, it was that she spewed her nonsense in my face, like I was a guest on The View or something.

I've learned that sometimes it's better to meet people who have only heard a story at a very high level...people who have only seen a headline. At least these people tend to understand and admit that they don't know anything about a situation other than that headline. It's the people who have heard tidbits here and there...people who have watched the Nancy Grace version that I worry about. I mean, look at this face:

And now I'd like to pause for a moment to show you this:

 

Anyway, back on topic. Living in DC has proven to house all areas of the spectrum in regard to the "Penn State Sex Scandal." Because that's what it is right? A Penn State sex scandal? We all did it, right? Oh man, it was funded by the school...right? They had a class called Cover Up 101 and OMG it was required?!?! But I digress...

The people I've met in this area are either very informed and entitled to their opinions (if you can back it up, power to you and your opinions...whatever they may be...), have some idea and are not interested in forming an opinion, have some idea and are SO interested in making their opinion known, or have ideas, but know that these ideas are in no way a reflection of me or my college experience (these are my favorite kind of people, but they are few and far between).

As painful as it often is, I have to say that meeting people and witnessing first hand how the spread of information works these days has been incredibly interesting, if not enlightening. I was in California this past summer, and it was so refreshing to be slightly removed from the situation. My family and I walked around in our Penn State gear without being pointed or stared at (this actually happens a lot in other places), and the only people who made mention of our attire were people who smiled and nodded with a "we are," which always brings the warm fuzzies.

Having grown up in State College, Penn State is in my bones (I feel like I could make a valid argument for that, actually...Penn State => farms => cows => milk => calcium => BONES!). Naturally, all of this doesn't just hit "close to home," it plops down right on top of home and starts nesting, like some crazy hoarder on A&E. And I realize that writing this makes me a bit hypocritical given that I have made it known that I am really sick of talking about it, but after meeting Ms. Misinformed (see what I did there...I just made a really un-clever pun), I needed to vent a little.

Unfortunately these scenarios are unavoidable. If I have learned anything at all from this situation, it is that there will always be people who perpetuate a problem by spreading the virus that is misinformation. And while I so clearly dabble in the realm of social media, and very much enjoy perusing the interwebs and having information at my fingertips at all times, it is inevitably bound to be the Achilles heel of any situation, while also being its only hope. Ah, I do love a good pickle though.

I Don't Know What I'm Doing

What better time to start a blog? I figure if I don't know what the heck I'm doing in most facets of life, I might as well document it in real time. 

Though we all mask it well, our lives are more or less a chain of one "I don't know what I'm doing" after the other. Or...maybe it's just me and I am projecting that "we are all in this together!" sentiment on the rest of you power-driven, self-motivated, hyphenated-word-loving, go-getters. My problem is not that I lack passion or motivation...it's that sometimes I think that I actually have so much that I don't know what to do with it. So I spew it in random directions like a broken shower head. Sometimes this is good, but most of the time it just leads to wonky relationships and confusion with my field of work--not to mention an inability to decide what that heck I want for Christmas.

It all started when I was fat. Okay, that might be a bit harsh. I was only fat for a few years...and it was all during a time period where it could technically be blamed on baby fat, but nevertheless, I was an M&M for Halloween 3 years in a row and let's just say I didn't necessarily need much more than the logo on whatever shirt I was wearing to pull it off. I don't know what the acceptable term is for chubby kids these days...I like to think I was pleasantly plump. My mom likes to say I was a tank, and uses the anecdote: "When you were on the basketball court, people used to run into you and fall down, not the other way around." 

This all changed, of course, in High School, when I avoided dipping almost every food into a Wendy's Frosty and focused more on working out. This was all fine and dandy, until on top of those efforts (which I will admit were a little too strict), I got sick with a thyroid condition and dropped 20lbs in a flash (Never really mentioned this to many, so if you knew me in high school...surprise!). And there went my basketball career. I was pretty good too, before I became a stick and stopped growing during my junior and senior years. Those years were not the most fun. Once we figured out what was wrong with me, it was a little too late. People had already made their assumptions, and while I did have quirky eating habits, and worked out a lot, it wasn't enough to justify how itty bitty I got. Naturally everyone was worried (which is appreciated now, but at the time was I just "git-out-muh-biznass, yo") So anyway, back to the original topic, for the vast majority of my life up until my high school graduation, I had been defined by basketball. In junior high school, I'd even received interest from Penn State after 5 years of summer camping. And there was a point in time where I would tell people my dream was to play in the WNBA (not to be anti-Feminism or anything, but I'm pretty glad I jumped off that train when I did...I'm not ashamed to say that the WNBA is about as entertaining as watching fly-fishing on TV...on mute). Graduating from high school meant graduating from basketball, which was basically a retirement of sorts. I didn't quite know what to do with myself. I imagine many former high school athletes felt the same. Many went to smaller school to continue living the dream, but I was burned out. I was ready to move on, but had no idea how. Man does that feel like a long time ago.

Fast-forward to post-high school. Part 2 of perpetual confusion. My freshman year, 2008, just happened to coincide with the most groundbreaking election in recent history. Naturally, I was convinced I wanted to go into Political Science...and naturally, this became less and less interesting once the election was over. I then shifted from English, to Public Relations, to Marketing, and eventually to Supply Chain. Correct me if I'm wrong, but the route to my eventual major really wasn't the most logistically efficient. Perhaps that is why I still didn't know what I was doing when I graduated from college. I spent my 4 years at Penn State feeling like I was part of various groups, while also feeling like I didn't quite fit the mold of any of them. The honors kids...the business kids...the work friends...the townies...I dabbled in all of the above, but never really found a niche.

That notion is what lingers with me today. I have many groups of friends...many social circles...many interests...but the only thing I am consistently good at is being woefully indecisive. I have yet to find the cure for this, but if you are suffering from something similar, I can tell you that reading Harry Potter over and over will not ensure a Hogwarts letter in the mail, but there is nothing wrong with checking anyway. I will say that one thing I did find in college was running. So I guess that's a check in the win column. But having the only check in the W column completely contingent on a continuous aversion to injury and an abundance of time and energy is risky and often frustrating...but I digress.

Wowza. I went into this first blog-o-mine with no plan, and guess what...I don't know how that (the above) happened. Annnnd cue my favorite shocked eTrade baby:

So the moral of this post is that I don't know, but I do know that despite not knowing if I will ever know...I am okay, and will be okay. I am committed to trying figure out these sheBranigan shenanigans, and honestly, succumbing to any kind of fear about not knowing is like doing what the writer's of Seinfeld did in the series finale. Weak sauce.

For now, I leave you with one thing I do know...I am ready to be this excited about something (and I mean something more than the next episode of Homeland):

And then...maybe I can get to this level: