Love Ya G-Ma

Celebrated my G-Ma with some pretty special people today. Was honored to have the chance to say some words about her at the reception. She was a pretty snazzy lady.

I know it's cliche to have monumental realizations only upon losing someone, but even so, that doesn't change the truth. The past few weeks as I've been thinking about my Grandma (a name I never called her, she was always G-Ma to me), I've felt a weird connection to her that only made me wish that I'd been cognizant of a lot more when I had the chance to tell her.

I went for a long run the other day and my pace was unbelievable...and that's because the whole way I was flooded with memories and little nuggets of my G-Ma that I wanted to get down on paper as fast as possible before they escaped the fuzzy walls of my mind. What I truly came to realize the more I thought about her, was how grateful I am that she rubbed off on me, even in the smallest of ways. We had a lot more in common than I realized.

• For instance, we shared a love of the classic TV show, Boy Meets World. Though, admittedly, I do think her love was more tailored toward Mr. Feeny than the show itself, but I can't fault her for that. He was a wise man. In one of my favorite scenes he says something that I feel like encapsulates the essence of my good ol' G-Ma: "Believe in yourselves. Dream. Try. Do good." To this, Topanga (a name my G-Ma hated BTW) replies, "Don't you mean "do well"? "No, I mean "do good." Even as an English major and a wordy, I think that my G-Ma placed far more emphasis on doing good than doing well...and she nailed it.

• Going off of that, I think that I have her and my subconscious to thank for my love of reading and writing. Two things that besides running, keep my sanity in check (Notice I didn't say keep me sane, mom...we all know that's a bit of a stretch). Some of my fondest memories of my G-Ma are doing crossword puzzles with her every morning while my parents gallivanted around the globe on business trips without me and my poor brother. Crossword puzzles were to be done in PEN, she would stress. If you're not sure of an answer, don't write it. If you're not sure of something in life, don't do it. Simple as that.

• She taught me to play Hearts on her old school Dell desktop computer. I remember every time the Queen of Spades would pop up and make that ominous noise, we would blame the computer. "This thing is an imposter!" (For those of you who didn't know her...her first name was Del)

• She was my feisty partner and crime, and also my feisty nemesis at times (all in good fun though). She had a stash of chocolate gold coins from the bank that she had swiped waiting for me every time I came over because she knew I loved them. On the other hand, on more occasions than one, she snuck sausage into her famous Thanksgiving stuffing (which is what my plate was typically 95% comprised of). I remember the first year she did it, I mentioned a hint of spice. "There's a funky spice to it, but it's still delectable as always." A few more bites in, we noticed the sausage. "G-Ma! You can't go changing things up on us like this." So the next year, no sausage she said. Next year came around...and thanks to a knack for detective work that came from the Sherlock Holmes books we would read together, I found the sausage. Sneaky, finely chopped sausage nestled in between the bread. I distinctly remember the smirk on her face as she slyly said, "I don't know what you're talking about. I can't see any sausage." A clever choice of words...she couldn't see it, but she could taste it, because it was there. But I digress.

• She made up for sneaking things I didn't like into my favorite Thanksgiving dish by always saving me a stash of her famous sweet pickles. Those of you who knew her well were probably lucky enough to get your hands on some of these coveted pickles. But don't go raising your hands or anything...I like to think I was part of an exclusive group.

• As my parents well know, one of my lifetime dreams remains to own a golf cart. Every Christmas list when I was a kid started off with the same two things: "Golf Cart and lifetime supply of French Fries." I am not making this up...my parents can vouch for it. Now, looking at those two things...the two things I wanted most in life as a spry under 10 year old...I think we can all agree that one was more feasible than the other...a golf cart would be much easier to obtain. My G-Ma knew this, and this led to some of my favorite moments with her. Speeding along the back 9 in a golf cart, my foot the only foot on the gas peddle (which inevitably meant it was pushed in all the way) and both of our fingers linked together on the steering wheel. Well played, G-Ma.

• Lastly, what I admired most about my G-Ma and strive to live up to, is her abundance of wonderful friends. Friendships she cultivated and maintained for a lifetime. I often say that I feel you can tell most about a person based on who they surround themselves with...and I don't think her circle of friends could get any better...which speaks so strongly to the woman she was. Let's face it, she was a rock star.

And finally, what I am most thankful for from my G-Ma...my Pops. I could ramble forever about him and how unbelievably lucky we all are to have him, but I think I can sum it up in one sentence: He is the best person that I know. And I can say that with complete and utter confidence because I've never meant anything more. And I have my G-Ma to thank for that.

Someone very dear to me said recently "Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways - Chardonnay in one hand - chocolate in the other - body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOOHOO, what a ride" 

I have no doubt that my G-Ma entered those pearly white gates with some scars and a devilish smile, before announcing, "all right, I'm here...you ready?" And while there certainly was no Chardonnay, there was absolutely a Pinot Grigiot in one hand and a White Zin in the other. 

Love ya G-Ma.

The DC I Love & The SC I Miss

Thinking about the goods today. The goods that come with calling somewhere home. Obviously, two places in particular resonate with me, as they are really the only two places I have had the pleasure of calling home to this point in my nearly 23.5 years (well, years on this planet, and in this life, anyway). They are my current home, Washington, DC (and all that is captured in its ginormous radius) and my forever home, State College, PA.

This is a bit of a follow up to a previous post outlining my conflicted relationship with my current abode and all of its quirks. I'm feeling visual today, but this time, no gifs, no Google, no BS; all photos are authentic and my own. For better or worse.

So let's get to it, shall we?

DC:

I love that I see more people on my morning commute than most people see in a week. Yes, I am a bloody hypocrite for this one. I bitch and complain about the sheer volume of bodies, cars, egos, and the like...but for a people-watching connoisseur, it is a bit of a people-watching mecca (not to mention a people-meeting mecca, which I also quite enjoy).

I love cops on segways (bonus points if the cop is handing out a citation in the wee hours of the night while perched on said segway). I ACTUALLY WITNESSED THIS OVER THE WEEKEND. To say it was awesome would be an understatement and a pure injustice to America.

I love public transportation...especially because of the signs at the Metro. While it is stupid expensive, always undergoing "track work," and is made up of stations that smell like fish markets (someone is going to have to explain that to me sometime...though I'm not sure I really want to know why that is the case), the DC Metro is pretty solid. It's relatively clean, relatively reliable, and saves my soul from being further tarnished by the demonic traffic that permeates every nook and cranny of this friggin' area.

I love the dive bars that squeeze slyly between da clubs and hoity toity joints and boast unapologetic signs like these.

I love the clichéd feeling of awe that comes with gazing down Pennsylvania Avenue at night. Despite how annoying government employees, government contractors, and the government in general may be, AMURICAN pride is rampant...and pretty awesome.

I love that this is not an unusual thing to observe...at the grocery store no less. So many people and personalities...for all we know, this could be Justin Bieber. I mean minus the heels, it looks just like him from behind...and I didn't get a look of this person from the front so there truly is no way of knowing.

I love the moments when I happen upon a bar with "cheap" prices. And yes, this is about as cheap as it gets around here. Cans of PBR have become a staple...fight or flight, I tell ya.

I love the abundance of Mini Coopers that surrounds me. There is a street not far from my apartment that I fondly call "Mini Cooper Row," as 4 houses in a row have their respective Mini Coops parked tantalizingly out front. I have to consciously not run into trees or trip when I run by due to the sheer senses of awe and admiration that overwhelm my entire being.

I love my Roxy. Nothing like being reunited after four long years bogged down in a separation-anxiety laden long-distance relationship. Keep an eye out for our upcoming reality show: "Survivor: Real Gingers of DC."

State College:

I miss running up Orchard Road, cutting through the open farm fields, and gallivanting around with the horsies.

I miss sunset hikes up Mt. Nittany and Shingletown with good friends and Camelbaks of wine and brewskies. Fewer things are more refreshing than a nice muscle burn, a tasty beverage, good conversation, and cool air swiftly sneaking in as the sun retreats on a hot summer day.

I miss running with friends (and chasing them finish line). Obviously I can run with friends anywhere, but the runners and r*nners of dear old State are tough to beat (in every sense of the word).

I miss family photo bombing on a regular basis.

I miss these two party animals.

Moral of the story, friends:  Home is not places...it is love.

Yeah, Our Bodies Age...So What?

Sooo, it's been a while. I know. I'm sure you, my loyal readership (ahem, my mama), have been aching to no end waiting for the latest from the gibberish spewing depths of my mind. Surely the past few weeks have left you feeling empty inside. So here goes...this is what's on my mind...RIGHT NOW.

So many people have been telling me recently, "Tara! Live while you're young!"

Live while I'm young? What comes after young...? What age serves as the dividing line between living, and just going through the motions. Maybe it's just me...but I fully intend to live while I am ALIVE...not just while I'm young. My body may age, and I may mature, but I don't ever want to stop reacting to life's wonderful moments like a little kid:

I recently made an impromptu trip home to State College. Like an 11pm Thursday night decision to come home on Friday. Looking back it feels a little like fate made that happen. My grandma has been pretty sick, I found out my brother was going home too (mind you I found this out after already deciding to make the trip), and something just literally compelled me to make the trip. And it ended up being a fulfilling weekend with family and a chance to reconnect with with some wonderful people. I needed that.

It just so happened that it was also THON weekend at Penn State. I admittedly have never been too involved in the THON scene, but for some reason, this year in particular had me mesmerized. The people who waited in line for hours in the frigid cold, the families I met from all over the country, the passion emitted when I heard friends talk about the THON beyond individual Penn State groups wearing bright colors and competing with one another. Maybe being separated from the Penn State community for a little after having spent my whole life engulfed in it...and maybe because I my perspectives, outlooks, and priorities are evolving daily...maybe that is why for the first time it truly, completely, hit me. One friend in particular said it best, "You go up for those last few hours and you will cry. There's no avoiding it. You will cry. But you will feel more love and inspiration that you can imagine." Not only does that make me even prouder to be a Nittany Lion, but sweet baby Jesus, I'm proud to be lucky enough to know so many great people involved in so many great things with so much friggin' love in their hearts. The chance to be surrounded by love is an irreplaceable and unexplainable thing. In other words:

People: You rock.

Penn State: You rock.

Life: You rock.

On another note, I also recently had the privilege of living as a hipster for a day (check that off the old bucket list). I ventured to Brooklyn, NY with some wonderful friends to see Mumford & Sons. Brooklyn + banjo wielding band + flannel attire...we owned our 24 hour case of hipsteritis. Whether you're a fan on Mumford or not, they were hands down the best live performance I have ever seen in my life. They go hard, sound better than any recording, have a stage full of instruments, and most of all, the music they make combined with the lyrics they write is straight up phenomenal. One song in particular has nested in my head recently...to the point where it's painting the walls and laying down hardwood floor in my mind.

"Do not let my fickle flesh go to waste
As it keeps my heart and soul in it's place
And I will love with urgency but not with haste"

Those few ending lines are just friggin' invigorating (no, not in the Neutrogena face wash sense). That notion of "letting things go to waste" just ain't cool. And there is something about that last line in particular...something that just makes me nod my head and think, "Damn. Yes. That." So yeah, I'm gonna do that.

This past weekend brought its own set of lessons (and fun) as well. That whole "work hard play hard" thing has merit to it, folks, I think we all would admit that. But it's exhausting, yeah? In my humble opinion (well, maybe not so humble), the ratio of work to fun is rarely 50-50...and I don't know that it necessarily should be anyway...I personally would push for more of a 40-60...but I digress. We all preach how GD short life is all the time, right? There are only so many hours in the day and we spend the vast majority of them working, thinking about work, and stressing about work. Don't get me wrong, work is good (for lack of a more eloquent phrase). Work spurs inspiration, motivation, dedication (all the 'ations') and that is a damn good thing. I honestly don't even know where I am going with this paragraph, but the meat of it is that what matters most...what really counts in the grand scheme of life is: personal fulfillment, emotional connection, people, hugs, high fives, living in the moment, seriously considering going to IHOP at 3 in the morning and not feeling guilty about it, love, cognizance of the beauty around you even if that beauty is merely the way the light reflects off of your phone as you sit in your 9-5 cubicle...we often get so caught up in the big picture that we forget about the little details that come together to create that big picture.

I know I preach a lot in these things, but I am truly, truly, truly, trying to live up to this whole living thing. I may not have balls in the most technical sense, but that won't stop me from going balls to the walls. While there is no avoiding the aging of our bodies, and while mature development is a good thing, there is no reason to let the notion of 'maturity' prevent you from letting yourself have fun...letting yourself really live. Being straight-laced and politically correct all the time is overrated anyway. Sometimes embracing weird and letting go is the catalyst to a FULL life. 

Sincerest apologies for the rambling and all over the place post...but I figure it's only appropriate to ferociously type up exactly what was on my mind this past hour and click "publish" without rereading it. I'll post something more coherent and clean next time. 

Until then, embrace the weird, y'all.

Write Your Own Rules

When I was a kid, I remember pretending to like root beer for the longest time. At birthday parties, post-soccer game pizza outings, sleepovers...if there was root beer, I was all over it. Root beer was cool. But I hated it (still do). I thought that I could learn to love it. Learn to love...oh how that theory morphs into bigger and badder things with bigger and badder consequences as we age. I didn't learn to love root beer. I didn't even learn to tolerate it.

We are too often so wrapped up in conforming to every opinion but our own, and yet our growth and personal evolution is dependent on our interactions with those around us. A pickle, indeed. As such, writing your own set of rules does not necessarily mean going against those around you, rebelling if you will. The decisions any thoughtful person would make are with those that they love and respect in mind.

First and foremost, don't listen to what I, or anyone else, tells you is right for you (okay, I recognize that sentence is a contradiction in itself, so if making your own rules isn't your cup of tea, by all means, carry on your merry way).

Stop caring so much about what other people think ALL THE TIME. Loosen the filter, say what's on your mind, pull a Jennifer Lawrence.

If you are unhappy with your life, live it differently. It's easy to preach the extreme of these notions (i.e. "If you're unhappy with you job, change it!" "If you're unhappy in love, get out!"). We all know that these things are so much easier said than done, but that's because they are processes. That stuff doesn't happen over night or even in the course of a month. The first step is changing the game. Add an inch of progress every day. Keep moving no matter how small each step is. Keep going so long as the direction you are going is in the direction of what you are headed toward. Walk into a job you hate with a new set of rules. A set of rules that enables you to find a niche that you do enjoy. Or enables you to either feel like you won when you got fired, or quit gracefully with well wishes and solid recommendations. Or, if circumstances call for it, like this...

We are groomed to remain in the lanes of the orchestrated route generated by the LIFE GPS. The route to anticipated success and happiness. The goulash of life includes pinches of "marketable" degrees, "respectable" careers, marriage by 'x' age, babies by 'x' age, etc, etc. There is nothing necessarily wrong with this hearty life stew--maybe goulash is your dish of choice--but let's be real here, goulash isn't for everyone. Not every digestive tract is made to support the ingredients of said goulash. No one should be forced into unwanted flavors, bouts of nausea, or unexpected gas.

Why is it that more often than not, what we are truly passionate about, the things we live for, are what we allot 10% of our time to...if we're lucky?

Why is it so hard for us to realize that trying to impress people is just all kinds of bass-ackwards? This is especially true when it comes to relationships. Why would you want to be with someone when a requirement of the relationship entails being on point at all times in an elaborate facade? Even if it is only a teensy facade...why bother? And not just romantic relationships, but friendships too.

What would you honestly say if asked: "What do you have to say for yourself?" And not even in a hostile way...just what do you have to say...about you? Who are you? What are you doing? Why?

I am not claiming to be a saint in the theories I am preaching AT ALL. I'm as guilty as the rest of you. But one thing I can say, for better or worse, I am fairly comfortable in who I am. This was not always the case...in fact, not even close. But now I can proudly say that I am more often than not, unafraid to SOUND MY BARBARIC YAWP OVER THE ROOFTOPS OF THE WORLD:

So here are just a handful of my rules: 

Don't be afraid to "say the first thing that pops into your head even if it's full of gibberish."

Don't be afraid to admit things like not particularly caring for bacon (guilty).

Don't be afraid to call out the duck faced camera-kissing ladies by taking it to the next level and adding morning hair shock therapy.

So hawt.

Don't be afraid to boogie...wedding, bar, coffee shop, living room, street corner, cubicle...you name it. For me at least, if muh jam is on you best believe I be jammin'.

Don't be afraid to take a leap of faith even if you may flop.

Don't be afraid of a shameless photo bomb...not even in Vatican City.

...or the kitchen.

Don't be afraid to giddily stuff your face when circumstances call for nothing less.

 

Don't be afraid to run gleefully through the streets, no matter how you may look doing it. 

Perhaps the boiler plate just so happens to be the right road for you. Perhaps it's not. The point I'm trying to make, which may have gotten lost in the mud, is don't settle. Don't settle for anyone else, and moreover, don't settle for the written path you've allowed the world to convince you is the right one. 

"We are fools for worms, lads..."

Make your lives extraordinary (you'll notice that the word extraordinary...extra-ordinary...does not necessaily mean extravagant. Small changes can go a long way).

And finally, as my good ol' hero, Amy Poehler says...

 

The TV You Should Be Watching If You Want to Learn About Life

I watch a fair amount of television. Most of it in the form of comedy shows. Colbert, Jon Stewart, late night talk shows, sitcoms, hell, even Homeland can be considered a comedy at this point (albeit a suspenseful and rugged comedy, sure). I choose to watch things like this as opposed to those "news" shows. The ones that so badly wants to convince me that the world is comprised only of kidnappings, rape, and murder, while slyly concealing the thousands of heartwarming, funny, GOOD stories that exist. I'd rather read my news in the paper or online. I can see headlines, get the gist of the bad shit, and delve deeper into things that make me, as Jack Nicholson so candidly says in As Good As It Gets, "want to be a better [person]." Forgive me for not wanting to watch 24/7 coverage of the same depressing stories being argued about, exploited, and politicized over and over again. The same incessant negativity. I will always rather read an article than listen to Greta Va Crazy Pants drone on about a "Tot Mom," or Bill O'Reilly "spin" in his "zone."

Anywho, I'll get off my soapbox now and get on my funbox instead. There are a handful of heartwarming and genuinely hilarious shows out there, but 2 particular gems go beyond the realm of comedy and into the realm of pure...simple...goodness: Modern Family and Parks & Recreation.

Modern Family

Don't turn off who you are.

The people who matter may make fun of you to no end...but they will love and accept every intricacy and quirk you have to offer. Life is boring without those things. Those are the good stuff.

Flip things around on Life.

Life can get pretty weird. And it can get the best of us a little more often than we would like. So when life hands you something, don't feel like you always have to do what is deemed acceptable. Throw life for a loop for once.

Labels are silly and shouldn't matter.

The only labels that should matter are: types of BBQ sauce (i.e. chipotle vs. honey vs. terriyaki), price tags on sneakers, warnings on medications, and those wrapped around beer bottles (i.e. Coors Lite vs. Dogfish Head).

Parks & Recreation

TREAT YO SELF (The obvious one to any Parks & Rec enthusiast)

One of my favorite literary homies, Oscar Wilde, said it best: “Life is far too important a thing ever to talk seriously about.” So too did the great Ferris Bueller:

Tom Haverford and Donna finish the sentiment: Treat. Yo. Self.

Food is good...food is energy...and you are what you eat...

If Ron Swanson can let loose...you can too. And you should.

No one looks stupid when they are having fun. Okay, maybe some people do, but if you're having fun, who cares?

Personalized gifts mean the most.

Nothing beats showing someone that you you know them and you care enough to get them something that they will actually use and/or appreciate.

Sometimes it's okay, and even better, to simply "screw it." 

Leslie Knope and Ben Wyatt proved this. 

(for some reason there are no versions of this scene that I can embed in here so the link above will have to do)

Life will inevitably try to convince you that the old "too good to be true" notion exists. Moreover, it will convince you that not only does this exist, but that it is also a rule to be followed without contention. It will tell you that timing, circumstances, distance, small quiffs, minute lifestyle differences, etc. are evidence that you should abort, put walls up, and hold back from going for it. Sometimes you just have to come out with it: "This is how I feel, how do you feel?"

So how do you feel? It's Sunday night after all...let's make Monday...ah who am I kidding. Mondays suck. But I for one am looking forward to the weekend...and that's enough for me.

CHEERS!

The Clichéd Twenty-Something...Am I?

As I begin to type this, I am almost afraid to put what I have on my mind in writing...like what I want to say is somehow akin to Lance Armstrong telling Oprah that he is a big fat fraud.

Or like that time I pretended I could snowboard and kept getting invited to go snowboarding until I eventually had to say, "welp...ya see...I haven't gone in so long...I'd probably have to start back at square one...sooo...."

It's not that I'm hiding anything, really. On some level I know that the uncertainty, anxiousness, and sense of "limbo" I feel is completely normal and acceptable. On that same note, I fear sometimes that I will get..."caught" (for lack of a better word)? Caught trying to figure out where I am and where I'm supposed to be...whilst in the middle of something else...something all-consuming (a good old J-O-B). What if someone who is a big deal stumbles upon this infamous blog and misinterprets it with a disgruntled, "This girl! Hmph, this girl...this girl does not want to be here!" Au contraire, my friends (saying something in French makes it more legitimate, ja? Whoops, ci? Ah, au revoir...) I have worked hard to get where I am and will continue working my caboose off.

Allow me to reiterate: I am dedicated in everything I do (regardless of its rating on the enjoyability scale). Many of us share in this sentiment, I imagine. Even if what I am doing isn't currently unraveling the career/life development I seek....even if it isn't spurring spontaneous bits of passion deep in my core...passion that radiates through my entire system, engulfing my very being in "work" that is so inspiring that it is no longer considered "work" ... I still want to succeed, excel, grow...you know, the works. And maybe I am right where I should be, but just haven't let myself realize it yet. Having said that, maybe I am just being a dreaded, clichéd twenty-something...but I sure hope not.

It's just that sometimes I feel like this is what I am doing:

So there is a little background, and here is a little foreground: I am in business. And I mean let's face it, I am literally an International Business Machine. I have a great job. A job I am honored to have. I am surrounded by some of the smartest and most diverse people out there--something that it is both intriguing and refreshing. Moreover, the opportunities at my fingertips and people that I work with are both intellectually and personally stimulating...and often very rewarding.

BUT (you knew there had to be some sort of "but" here...), sometimes I just get this ache. Like this pulsating pang in the back of my belly (is there a back to one's belly? If not it's just somewhere in there...behind a few organs and between a few bones...) This feeling of...shame almost? Not shame in the sense that I am copping out by taking a "practical route" as opposed to chasing "my dreams," but shame in the sense that I have always been too scared, or maybe just too lazy, to figure out what those dreams are...what it is that makes me want to jump up and down, spontaneously break out into the Thriller dance, hug a stranger, pour Gatorade all over myself (because I am a WINNER dammit), and various other things that I imagine come with finding one's niche. What moves me mentally to be a better person, what moves me physically onto the next phase, what moves me emotionally to be a mother-effing butterfly exploding out of a cocoon? Because let me tell you, if I am in a cocoon (which I very well may be after re-reading what I just wrote), if I ever figure out the exit code, I am going to erupt out of that sucker in a Hulk-eqsue fashion. Why don't I know what the heck I dream of? 

**And no, I don't mean dreams like the one I had last night in which I was presenting a "Golden Eye" award to Daniel Craig at the Golden Globes. But seriously--had that dream and am mind blown by the intricacies of it. I mean at first I woke up thinking, ah, Golden Globes were just on, and a Golden Eye award at the Golden Globes, how clever...and to Mr. Craig because his eyes are just oh so very dreamy. And then I though OMG...GOLDENEYE! BOND!  Whoa. Anywho. **

This relates to the above sentiments about things often feeling rewarding...but then also emitting quite a few "oy vays" and feelings of unease at the same time.

For instance, one moment could feel like this:

And then the very next moment can feel like this:

Office/cubicle life in general has been known to drive people to extremes (both big and small). Little sunlight, dry air, hot air, collective sneezes and coughs...these have been known to lead to some extreme behavior. For instance, behavior such as unconventional attachment to inanimate objects...

Or irrational anger toward inanimate objects...

Don't get me wrong. I really am learning so much. And I really do feel very grateful. And proud. And I am loving the opportunity to be learning at all, really. And honestly, what I most love learning about right now is people. I am working with so many of 'em. So many wildly different people. I am learning to communicate, cooperate, comically commiserate. We toss around buzzwords like "bandwidth," "due diligence," "utilization," and "billable hours..." and we also say things like "oy vay," "bah humbug," and "oof" quite a bit. But the people I am meeting, the relationships I am building, and the sheer diversity of the people around me everyday is truly fulfilling and salvages even the worst of days. Moreover, I feel like those kinds of "learnings" and "experiences" are far too often overlooked. Learning to interact and work with anyone and everyone is an underrated intangible.

So having said all of that, I can sit around, continuously over-think, type furiously, and succumb to the status quo...or I can grow a pair and push myself to diagnose that ache...to learn so much that I am literally forced to find my passion...to keep on truckin' until it is launched into my face...like a shoe...

I realize that this (well, all of THAT above...) is a whole lotta talk. I know that. The "walk" portion is yet to come. And as much as I love to run, I'm going to try to take my time with this one (a little). Maybe a light jog so that I am not wasting time, but also not rushing into the wrong direction and adding unnecessary mileage. And I also realize that all of this hullabaloo, hooplah, melodrama, etc. is not unique to me. So maybe I just need to get over myself for a hot second. I mean, life is pretty damn good, after all.

I suppose the only way to not be a clichéd twenty-something is to...not be a clichéd twenty-something (ala Fight Club...? Nah, I guess not really...but I have been told I throw a mean jab). 
 

Let Today Be A Good Day

Are you having one of those days? Weeks? Months, even? Months compiled of days and weeks where every little thing is amplified into a depressing hodgepodge of catastrophic proportions? When miniscule things like missing a shot in the trash emote feelings of utter despair? When every thing that should go right just seems to go wrong? When you finally find out Lance Armstrong is a sham? Officially rendering the "hip" yellow band around your wrist obsolete and even offensive (let's face it though, folks, we've known old Armstrong had no balls long before he lost an actual ball).

Well, friends, I am here to tell you that despite feelings akin to those listed above, today (and every day for that matter) is a GOOD day. Why, you ask? Because YOU CAN MAKE IT SO.

Allow me to list a just a few reasons why today is a good day:

1. Unlike this poor pug, you could reach this cookie if you wanted to (okay, not through the computer screen obviously...but if you and this little guy were to switch places, you could).

2. Even Pandas help a brotha (or sista) out. People can, and should, do the same.

3. This is not you:

4. This is not you

5. This is not you

6. This is not you

7. Comedians are friends with each other. They do things like this on national television. And they are the best.

Also, Amy Poehler and Tina Fey exist. And they are awesome.

Also again, Conan O'Brien and Stephen Colbert exist. And they are awesome.

8. Even Bane likes to Boogie

9. Photos like this are of REAL places...and you can GO THERE.

10. Even Ron Swanson cracks a smile every now and again...and when he does, it is pure bliss.

11. Betty White says things like this. And she really is on Facebook. And The Twitter.

12. Racoons may pop up out of no where and scare the beejeezus out of us humans once in a while, but karma is a bitch.

So buck up skippers, it's FRIDAY. So do as Dumbledore does and...

Or if Michael Scott is more your style...

Regardless of how your day, week, month, year is going...just breathe. We all are as happy as well allow ourselves to be. Even if the happiness threshold you can reach today is not as happy as you've been before or can be tomorrow...even if you cannot reach that maximum allotted happiness within your wonderful self, push to get as high up on that happiness scale as you can. And when you get there, reward yourself for it. It'll make you even happier.

Peace, love, and Cocoa Puffs. Cheers!