Guess you'd better go get your armor.

I'm heartbroken, hurt, troubled, stunned, shocked, shaken up, falling down, freaking out, humbled, confused, sad, and a lot of other words that can't seem to find their way to me right now.

Some good will come of these emotions, someday, but for now I kind of wish I didn't have to be the way I am.

Lucky for me, my heart's used to this by now so I know exactly what to do. I know good and well that dwelling, moping, and toxic negativity do nothing to alleviate the pain. So. I'll cry to myself, let my friends support me like I know they can, and keep right on doing whatever it is I'm doing.

I wasn't ready for this. And I really don't have any clear next step. I'm lost.

and there is nothing more to it than that.

This year's love had better last. Heaven knows it's high time.

It's Sunday morning. I'm sprawling on my old bed which somehow feels new because it's freshly made and has new pillows. And I'm staring at a hot pink wall, which feels new because it is new because it's in my new apartment and also, I just painted it two days ago.

I didn't really intend for it to be THIS hot pink, but I'm pretty sure I love it.

From here, I can see Maggie sniffing all the luggage and piles of things that will somehow have to find new homes in my new home. And my new bathroom. I can definitely see my new bathroom, right here, from my perch, in my new old bed in my hot pink room in my new apartment. I say MY new bathroom, because here it sits, in my new bedroom, all for me. Which is a lie, because I fully intend to be a nice roommate and share with the others. But still. I live in New York and I have a hot pink bedroom and my own bathroom and I'm pretty sure life doesn't get much better.

Remember when I told you change scares me? If it results in things like this, and things I'm pretty sure are coming, it's actually not so bad.

I'm moving onto the next part of the story. There were infant years and adolescent years, high school years and college years. Then came the Charlotte years and the I'm moving to New York years and the Holy Shit, I just MOVED TO NEW YORK years. And though each chapter builds the book, this is a passage I never intended to write so it's probably going to be the most exciting yet. Really. I never meant to stay. I meant to come up here and poke around, pat myself on the back for trying and make some kind of triumphant return back down yonder.

Life's just more fun when you let it be an adventure.

Correspondance Thursday/Friday. And Merry Everyday, too.

Wherever I seem to be, there you are.

You, darling Elizabetta, have pretty much seen and heard it all when it comes to the tales my life spins. And when I was 24 and made a great leap into a massive unknown and landed in New York, you quickly became a safety net. Perhaps I didn't take full advantage of you and me, us in this city. But all along, there haven't been many greater comforts than just knowing you were here.

You know everything about me, and yet you love me anyway.

(I think that often about those nearest to my heart.)

There have been road trips and giggle fits. Chocolate sundaes and french fries, and Tasti-Delight, too. Anxieties. Weight Watchers and long walks. Photo shoots. The Brooklyn Bridge. Boston. Every city and every interstate in the greater Southeast. Warm afternoons in Bryant Park. Bad musicals. Music. Oh goodness, the music. Haircuts and boys in eyeliner. Jobs. Hobbies. Fails. Wins. Losses. Second, third and fourteenth chances. Compassion and love. Change. Acceptance. Jesus.

You've spared the kindest words that have ever been said to someone like me. I am grateful to have shared a time in our lives that nothing and no one will ever be able to touch. And I love that our lives are so similarly connected, so absolutely unplanned that we'll never have to worry about the silly little things like time and distance that seem to bog others down.

I would never have made it this far without you. And although I hate that we can no longer have instant adventures, I am positive that in the grand scheme of things "we" are not only far from over - we have barely begun. I'm happy to share you with a world that needs you. I can't wait to continue to be able to point and say "See her? She's my friend."

Love. Love. Love.

You wanna show the world, but no one knows your name (yet.)

New things scare me.

It may surprise you to know that I get very, incredibly, absolutely and super nervous when facing something unfamiliar. I'm a quintessential creature of habit. Lucky for me, I'm equal parts anxious and self-aware, so I know how to arm myself with the proper tools to address the unknown.

My latest fad has been to label every new thing I encounter an adventure. Adventure just sounds so entertaining and intriguing and engaging and lots of other wonderful words. Say it! I'M GOING ON AN ADVENTURE! There. Doesn't that sound awfully nice? I think so.

And my fail-safe backup has always been to take reinforcements. I do better with people around. (Haven't you noticed?) I usually give these people pep-talks before we embark on our adventure. I tell them what I will do and how they should react. It helps.

So it may surprise no one that on Saturday, I set out for my latest adventure. An open casting call for a new reality show called More to Love. I can tell already there is going to be a lot of love and a lot of criticism for this show. I hope it swims. I hope it soars. I hope it's something shiny and new and not just a reproduction of the tried and true reality tv production - drama queens + cameras = win. I think there might a good message in there, and I'm wishing and hoping and praying that I get to be one of the ladies putting my heart right there on that screen.

Because I'm me, I knew I would panic at the crucial moment. Because Crissie is a good friend, she came along to give me that nudge. (Because I'm me, I knew she was the one to ask.) So with any lucky, hopefully last Saturday will go down as the day my universe shifted. It's all going so very well. Now I'm in the sit around and wait for a phone call portion of this adventure. It's wreaking havoc - much more than I ever thought it would. I can't sleep cause I'm just so gosh-darned excited! I just keep picturing me, beamed across televisions across the country. Me, going on fantasy dates with some kind of ridiculous dreamboat. Me, putting it out there that not all chubby bunnies are lazy and sloppy and lethargic.

I've started many adventures in my life. Somehow I'm suddenly feeling each step has been a stone on a path en route to this. So, onto the next adventure!

(I hope.)

If I ever start to think straight, this heart will start a riot in me.

Today is rainy and in the 40s. And my whatever-I've-got-that-keeps-making-me-feel-like-poo is re-attacking and binding me to the couch.

But yesterday was gorgeous. Crissie and I ate burgers, went to Barnes and Noble, and sat our little butts in the park for a few hours. Know what I want more than anything? A football, and someone to throw it to. Don't let my squishy white arms fool you - my daddy taught me how to do a mean spiral.

And then there was gelato.

Mmmm. Spring is ALMOST here. See?

My heartbeat beats me senselessly. Why's everything got to be so intense with me?

I'm going to give you an update in the form of the lyrics I can't stop listening to and what I've been twittering about. Sound good? Lyrics in italics. Me in bold.

(Oh, and the song? Kelly Clarkson's Long Shot. It's been on constant repeat for about 24 hours now. My poor roommate...)

So now I’ll take a chance on
This thing we may have started
Intentional or not I
Don’t think we saw it coming

Now having a much improved morning. A guest just left me a SPONGEBOB SKATEBOARD and game of Sorry! for a tip!

It’s all adding up to something
That asks for some involvement
That asks for a commitment I think I see it coming

Taryn is here!

If we step out on that limb

edamame falafel? Amazing. Absolutely amazing.
I smell bacon.
Had duck for dinner and lamb for lunch! Exotic!
Loves brunch. Mainly for the free alcohol involved.

My heartbeat beats me senselessly
Why’s everything got to be so intense with me

Weekend finally over. Must face shower. Hair dryer. Hair product. Pantyhose. Suit. Makeup. Commute. Stupid tourists. Yaaaaay!

I’m trying to handle all this unpredictability
In all probability

Fox is casting a reality show to help a "curvy" girl find love. I am so totally all over that!!!

It’s a long shot but I say why not
If I say forget it
I know that I’ll regret it
It’s a long shot just to beat these odds
The chance is we won't make it
But I know if I don't take it there's no chance '
Cause you're the best I got
So take a long shot

Oh man. I haven't had the lovebug this bad in awhile, y'all. Fingers crossed.

I realize that there is all this doubting
Things we're both scared about that
We’ll never see them coming
Throw caution to the wind and
We’ll see which way it's blowing
Into this fully knowing
We’ll never see it coming
Til it's much too close to stop

Mortified and hungover. Instead of asking a guy OUT, my drunken tongue said HOME. Gah.

My heartbeat beats me senselessly
Why’s everything got to be so intense with me
I’m trying to handle all this unpredictability
In all probability

Damage control worked. Got a cute text from boy this am, unprompted by me. Phew. Vodka, we are so fighting.

It’s a long shot and I say why not
If I say forget it I know that I’ll regret it
It’s a long shot just to beat these odds
The chance is we won't make it
But I know if I don't take it there's no chance '
Cause you're the best I got
So take a long shot

Has had kelly clarkson's long shot on repeat for the whole ride home. It pretty much sums up everything. Everything.

Oh I waited for fact to come of fiction
And you fit my description
I never saw you coming
But we'll make it

What is written on the ass of the Tarheel's basketball uniforms? Anyone know?

It’s a long shot but I say why not
If I say forget it I know that I’ll regret it

I'm pretty sure their butts say "carolina" - I was hoping for "juicy." But, I love the argyle stripes!

It’s a long shot just to beat these odds

I think I liked chubby seth rogen more.

The chance is we won't make it But I know if I don't take it there's no chance 'Cause you're the best I got

Thinks if you don't enunciate, "ain't no sunshine" sounds more like "anal sunshine." And that's a bad thing.

It’s a long shot but I say why not

Still hoping...


And if that didn't satisfy your need to know what's going on in this ridiculous brain, heart, soul and body of mine...here are some pictures.

Mine is not a new story.

Long awkward gaps in posts leave me with no choice but to write long awkward "this is what I've been up to" entries.

So here goes.

First and foremost, hair curlers have become more and more a part of my daily routine. Seriously? I didn't expect to turn into my mother for at least another decade.
(Oh, and as we all know, "this is what I've been up to" entries contain lots of pictures.)

That's me, circa 5 seconds ago. Real-time blogging y'all. I'm so hip and happening I can't stand it.

Oh, the hair is also new. Apparently I was hungry when I toddled on over to Duane Reade, because I came home with a box of "chocolate covered cherry" for my tired, bored locks. I go to Aveda for a trim on Monday and can't wait to see what they make of my homemade dye job.

But there's more to me than hair.

Speaking of hair, I saw Hair! And Billy Elliot, too! Broadway's new season pretty much kicks ass. Billy Elliot had me doubled over screeching and crying and snotting from all the laughter. Incredible. Absolutely incredible, start to finish. I could not WAIT to give a standing ovation at the end...and I'm one of those standing o snobs that HATES that it's become expected and passe at the end of EVERY PERFORMANCE OF ANY SHITTY SHOW. Hair was also just solidly good. I don't have quite the rant and rave about that one, but I sure did enjoy myself. I'm still waiting patiently for the opportunities to see West Side Story, Blithe Spirit, Rock of Ages and yes, even 9 to 5! Crissie and I saw Guys and Dolls a few weeks ago. I wanted it to be fantastic, but it sure wasn't. In fact, it was so bad that at the end of the show, I threw Crissie down the stairs just so we'd have something different to talk about on the way home and wouldn't spend the entire subway ride wailing OH CRAIG! TITUSS! MARY! WHAT HAVE YOU GOTTEN YOURSELVES INTO!?!? But that's a whole different story for a whole different day.

(I didn't ACTUALLY throw my roommate down the stairs. But she did take a tumble, so we like our new version of the story better.)

There have been some other fun happenings. Mardi Gras, for starters. Kim suggested we dress up as Robert Palmer girls. So we did.


I can't lie. It was pretty hilarious. Flying Vs included.

And then Jennimafer came to visit me! We pumped some money into New York's economy and some wine and cupcakes into ourselves and generally had a delightful time.


(Hey Jenn, I'm really glad you've been in my life for nearly 9 years now and I giggle when I think about the freshman we once were vs. the women we've become. Thank you for coming to spend some time with me!)

Megan turned 28! So of COURSE we had to help her celebrate. So of COURSE there was a tiara involved!

Which of COURSE I was eventually kind enough to let the Birthday Girl wear.


After reviewing Megan's birthday party film, I would now like to take a moment to note that I believe I am beginning to have a profound negative impact on my friends' picture taking abilities. Scroll back two entries to see a typical picture of me. Now, observe.




Apparently, it has become far too big a favor to ask that anyone just smile pretty for a gosh-darned picture. Self included. Whoops.

And THAT, my friends, brings you up to speed. Taryn arrives in a few more days before her Adventures in Italy commence. I am positive there will be more sordid tales and inappropriate pictures to follow.

The rest is mine, I guess. The beauty AND the mess.

Tucked somewhere in every phone conversation with my mother is her reminder that she had me (her first child) when she was 32. Evan came along 10 years later While the rest of society places a great deal of importance on the Holy Sacrament of Marriage and the blessings children bring, (snort) I'm comforted in the fact that at least my Mama isn't quite ready for me to follow suit. And of all the ways I may have possibly disappointed my parents over the years, at least being single and nearly 27 isn't one of them.

At the end of every phone conversation with my father is his most favorite piece of advice. "Watch your back." That has nothing to do with anything other than the fact that I find it hilarious that of all the things he could say, that is what he consistently chooses.

So there are two big things happening.

1) I'm hellbent on losing another 30 pounds before my birthday. Mainly because with 30 more pounds off, I'll be past 100 pounds off total and I'm pretty sure that's hot shit. And I'm pretty sure the summer will be so much more bearable if I weigh less and therefore feel more comfortable wearing less. Oh yeah, and there's that whole healthier thing too.

It feels good to be eating well again. Earlier today I was flirting with the idea of grabbing slice of pizza or seven for dinner tonight. And then I realized I didn't actually want pizza, I just felt like I should want pizza. I actually want a turkey-apple-cheese sammich on wheat pita with sprouts. And some hummus. I greatly fear I might turn into a chickpea any day now for all the hummus I've been eating.

and the super big news

b) New York gets to keep on keeping me. In June, I'll be signing into another year's lease. While I had made no actual plans to move back to Charlotte, I think we all know it's something that constantly squats in my mind. But after a talking to from my most favorite voice of reason, I realized I'm never going to be truly happy here until I quit talking about leaving. And then I'd leave and suddenly feel all kinds of guilt and sadness over never giving so great a city a real chance. And I know this is the right thing for me because I couldn't possibly imagine being more excited than I am right now at this very second.

Becaaaaaaaause I'm moving into a 3 bedroom with Megan and Marielle and it's going to be beautiful and fantastic and we're going to live in some spectacular neighborhood and in some kind of a brilliant apartment. The timing is perfect - the market is down and so is the rent. We have time and absolutely no need to compromise a thing.

We had our first roommate date over sushi and fro-yo last night and it simply felt right. To try to put it into words would be silly.

It feels damn good to love your life and your situation and your job and your friends but still see lots of room for improvement. LOTS of room, y'all. But that's ok. I'm pretty sure I've still got time.

She is something all together different, never just an ordinary girl.

People have been telling me for some time now that I look like Lauren Graham. AKA Lorelei, the mom from Gilmore Girls. I even watched a few episodes, and I don't see it. She's smokin' hot, y'all. Apparently it's in the mannerisms, but as I can't really hear and see myself, it's all lost on me.

Well. Was all lost on me. Until Lorelei hit Broadway in Guys and Dolls and this publicity photo hit subway tunnels:

I mean, I guess there is a SLIGHT resemblance. Just can't put my finger on what, exactly.

Hmmmmmm.

This is tricky.

A little help here, please?

There's something, alright.

Oh well. I give up. If you figure it out, let me know.


Oh wait! I've got it! It's the nose! Right???


Awesome. Glad I figured that one out.

(This completely self-indulgent post brought to you by the face that I am FINALLY seeing Guys and Dolls this week and am sosososososososososososososoSOOOOOOOO excited about it.)

Lost and insecure. You found me.

I have exactly 7 drafts sitting unloved under my "Edit Posts" tab. So, while I realize I totally and without question have been sucking wind in the department of actually hitting "Publish Post" - I mean, I tried. Right?

Nothing just seemed good enough for you.

One was yet another tourist rant. Two were "I'm not gonna rant about the commercial pressure and sexist tendencies of Valentine's day" rants. Two were attempted "this is what I did in North Carolina" updates. One was a completely whiney attempt to not be whiney. And one was attempting to figure out why I have become completely engrossed in The Bachelor. (But now I know the answer to that one. Well. Answers. 1) I've become a total sap the longer I stay single and B) American Idol hadn't kicked into Hollywood Week yet.)

Oh, and I fully intended to write one about how much I love my MacBook, but never got around to it. How's that for irony? I couldn't drag myself to the computer I love to tell you all about how much I love it.

I also thought about writing an entry about socks. Sidebar: Filene's Basement in Union Square really is the Holy Land of Socks. Seriously. A whole quarter of a floor dedicated to socks, hose, and tights.

I think the main reason I'm not writing is because I don't like facing what I don't have to report. Many in my life are blessed with fantastic happenings - someone is pregnant. Someone is moving to Italy. Someone is getting married in Hawaii. Someone is buying a new house. Jobs are shifting and relationships are evolving and I'm like well...today I went to work, came home, carried on a long conversation with my cat, watched some bad tv, and went to bed. It's all so very Bridget Jones, right down to the solo dancing to Chaka Khan and red wine overdosing. But minus Colin Firth. Mmmmmmm, Colin.

In truth, I'd rather be married and pregnant than where I am right now. Oh, snap. There, I said what every self-assured closer-to-30-than-20 successful and capable woman is NEVER supposed to be admit.

And nobody really digs a woe is me kind of entry, so I just chose to be quiet instead of whiney.

All that being said, I have taken the past day and a half to be still and quiet and allow myself to be sick and pathetic. Now that I've driven myself to stir crazy, I am going to do a little cleaning and a little cooking and rejoin the human race. If you're bored, then you're boring.