It's the day after my blog's first birthday.

Thursday, 25 April 2013

You know how I know I'm a really horrible blogger?
Yesterday was the 1 year anniversary of this blog and I totally missed it. I did zero to acknowledge such a thing. No big reality show announcements, no giveaway, not even a celebratory drink.

How shameful.

Yes, I'm reusing this photo again. There's the proof right there that I really did forget about this occasion.

I'm sorry I missed our anniversary, blog. I hope you'll take this post as a sincere apology and wont hold this against me for the next year. What can I say? I'm just not good with remembering dates unless it's my birthday.

Can we keep this a secret from whoever receives that letter I wrote yesterday?

Either way, hey, it's kind of cool. I've stuck with this thing for a whole year. Who knew I was capable of doing such a thing? I didn't know I was, that's for damn sure. I guess time just, kind of, flies when you're hammered bullshitting your way through this thing. Anywhoodlums, happy 1st birthday, you fine thing, you. I'm happy to be here. Let's party!

Please turn on Can't Hold Us by Macklemore and watch this GIF. You're welcome.

Really though, looking back over the year is kind of fun. I'm so thankful for this little interwebz space of mine where I get to tell my ridiculous stories and I'm even more grateful to have so many of you reading along with me and interacting with me. I've made some pretty bad ass friends here, you know?

I wish I felt I had the knowledge to sit here today and type out a post about how this blogging thing works but, quite honestly, I'm still learning. Every day I feel like I learn something new about blogging and what works, what doesn't work, and so on. It's funny, I get emails and comments all of the time asking me how I'm doing it, how I've done it... how I've gotten to where I am in this thing, wherever that may be, and honestly I never know how to respond because I don't know what I'm doing.

I'm just writing.

I like to think Ernie and I would have been good friends.

And really, I love doing it. Isn't that what they say? Do what you love and it'll never be work. Well, if I'm being completely honest here, which I usually am a little bit too much of, some days it does feel like work. Some days I don't feel like blogging at all. Some weeks I don't feel like writing. Those are the times you just have to dig a little deeper and, normally, those are also the posts that end up getting more views. Weird, but true. At least for me.


I guess if I had to give my one and only piece of blogging advice here, which just makes me cringe that I'm even doing such a thing because seriously, for the record, I do not feel I have merit to do such a thing, I'd just have to say stay true to your voice.

Oh, and always remember... you can't please everyone. There's always going to be someone who doesn't like what you have to say and that's just fine! Be your own cup of tea, I say.


Anyways, that's all I've got today. Thank you so much to all of you who have stuck this thing out with me for a whole year, and to those of you who are new, semi-new, or are going to pop in a year from now. The fun is just getting started!

Happy belated 1st birthday, Yoga Pants Blog of mine!

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Love Always, Your Future Partner in Crime

Wednesday, 24 April 2013

I'm not really sure I'll ever actually get married after my whole engagement debacle at the ripe age of 23, but who knows? I'm young and I like to think I've got a lot of life left in me to live. Well, all of me minus my liver. I'm not so sure that guy is planning to stick around but I'm sure crazier things have happened. Stay tuned on that one.

Even if marriage doesn't happen for this girl, I know I'll at least have some type of man friend. If not for anything other than opening a fresh jar of pickles for me and taking the garbage out. And maybe the occasional date to the fancy parties I'm bound to be invited to in my later life. Or something.

Anyways, today I'm writing a letter to my future man friend/husband. Read at your own risk.



Dear Future Man Friend slash Husband slash Pickle Jar Opener,

I will never refer to you as "hubby", "hubs", or other rendition of the word "husband". I just wont, it isn't my style. Instead you can expect to be called things like "boofren", "homeslice", "pooks", "assface" and many others that really have no relevancy to your actual name, whatever it may be. Feel free to pass on your own ridiculous nicknames to me, I'm a big fan of them. You'll learn that quickly, though.

If your name is Nick just go ahead and change it now. I've dated 3 and, well, let's just say that even the third time was not a charm. I hope your middle name will suffice because that's all you'll be getting out of me. If your name is not Nick, go ahead and disregard this portion of the letter.

Moving on, sometimes I'm really bad about things like hanging up my towel after I shower, or bringing my wine glass to the sink before I go to bed. I can apologize a trillion times for this but there's a good chance it'll never change. There's also a good chance there will always be an empty wine glass or two on my nightstand. Also something you'll learn quickly... and maybe even partake in. I'd be very okay with that.

On Sunday's I really like going out to brunch and drinking my weight in cheap champagne mixed with some type of fruit juice. Sometimes I prefer to only do this with my girlfriends. If this is an issue, well, we just aren't going to work. Just remember, I'll always come home to you. And it's likely I'll be nice and tipsy, which wouldn't be such a bad thing for you. If you catch my drift...

I come up with a lot of new business venture ideas on the regular and I know they all might not be the million dollar ideas that I present them as but I just need you to be supportive. Like when you try to convince me that watching NFL isn't so bad, I'll support it but you need to know that college football is simply the best. And by college football being simply the best, I mean Florida State football is simply the greatest of all time.

Sometimes I'm loud. Very loud. I laugh loud, I talk loud, I dance loud (if that's such a thing) and I will probably embarrass you regularly. It's not on purpose, it's just the nature of the beast beauty. You'll have to understand this and try not to tell me to be quiet because all that will do is piss me off and make me get louder, and not in a good way. I like to think you'll learn to embrace this part of me, or hopefully you can just be my loud counter part. That'd be okay with me, too.

Lastly, I just want you to know that my heart is bigger than my brain and when I fall, I fall hard. I'll always put you first, even when I shouldn't, and I'll always be your partner in crime. I'll always have your back and I'll never go a day without telling you how much I love you, as long as you praise me and tell me how great I look.

Can't wait to meet you! And if we already know each other, well, I can't wait to have my mind blown. *poof*

Love Always,

Your Future Partner in Crime

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Dude Answers to Chick Questions: NYC Edition

Tuesday, 23 April 2013

Today it's time for another edition of Dude Answers to Chick Questions except this edition is awesomer (It's a word to me, dammit.) because it's the New York edition. That's right, I did some work while I was there, contrary to what you may have seen in yesterday's post. I conducted an interview over an 18 pack of Miller Lites.

Enjoy.

Why do you use decorative towels to dry your hands?
- *insert very long pause here* ... "I don't."
   " because I don't dry my hands." 

With a start like that, I'm already feeling confident about this interview.



How successful is the "can I buy you a drink" line?
- "I have other lines that I use... they work better. You have to be creative."

He said something about a goldfish during this one but me being the skilled interviewer that I am, I don't understand what I wrote. Or maybe that was the beers. Either way, I prefer the free drink and that's that.



If you were a girl for a day what would you do?
- "I'd drink for free. Mess with guys... I like it when girls do that, so I'd do it."

Says the guy who wants to talk about goldfish instead of offering the drinks. I'm still convinced guys would sit in the mirror and stare at their boobs all day... That's my theory and I'm sticking to it.



Can you tell when a chick sucks at walking in heels?
- "These are very random questions..."
  "Um... I can tell when she falls... she looks like an idiot."
Does it make you laugh?
- "It makes me cringe." 
Would you buy her a drink?
- "I'd buy her a drink over the girl who can walk in heels because it's funnier. Really, if she's hot I couldn't care less if she can walk in heels or not."

How romantic.
It's all fun and games until she takes you down with her. I've seen it happen, not personal experience.


Do you dance in the mirror?
- *awkward silence*

This question was previously answered when I got to witness crime as it was happening. We all do it, it's ok.



If you opened a chick's fridge and she had a box of wine in there, what would you think?
- "This girl's a drinker. Let's grab this box and drink it together!"
What about if you opened her freezer and there was an 18-pack of Bagel Bites?
- "My girl, right there."
So after discovering both of these things you wouldn't think she's the most awesome chick in all of the land?
- "If she's hot..."

I didn't even have to pay for those answers.



*Now is the point in my notes where I just have weird comments written down... enjoy*

"These questions are stupid."

"Why does it smell like cleaning supplies?"
"Because they're cleaning."

"The interviewers are verbally abusive. Write that down."



Are beer goggles a real thing?
- "Yes because it lowers my caringness. (good word) It just makes me not give a f-word. Just like when I pee the bed... wait, don't write that down."

Caringness is my new favorite word.


Do blondes really have more fun?
- "I feel like I'm being interrogated."
   "I prefer brunettes (*cough*Erin*cough)... I just happen to date more [brunettes]."

Rude dot com slash org.


And that's a wrap for the New York edition of Dude Answers to Chick Questions.

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Dignity of Risk

ESNP has an interesting video about Garrett, a young man with Down syndrome, and his training leading up to his first MMA fight.

Overall I thought they did a great job reporting this piece on Garrett, but I wish there wasn't the need to report that "Garrett is very highly functioning for someone with Down syndrome. He reads at the 3rd grade level and has the cognitive ability of an 8 or 9 year old." I didn't think that had relevance to his journey of participating in his first MMA fight. (The highly functioning for someone with Down syndrome bit I'll save for another blog post.)

I thought it was sad to hear that while growing up he didn't want to have friends, or associate with, any one who had Down syndrome or other disabilities. He didn't want to be called Garrett because Garrett was someone who has Down syndrome. We have talked to Kayla about having Down syndrome, she knows she has Ds, but I don't think at this point she grasps exactly what that means or how that affects her. I am trying to prepare myself that one day she may express being upset about having Down syndrome.

Garrett's father said a lot of people gave him a hard time for allowing Garrett to participate in this fight. I loved that he gave Garrett the opportunity. It's called the "dignity of risk" - “Dignity of risk” means respecting each individual’s autonomy and self-determination (or “dignity”) to make choices for himself or herself. Garrett trained for the fight and wanted to get in the ring; they found a fighter with the same height and build who agreed to fight him.

Garrett's reaction time isn't as quick as his opponent; I liked that his opponent didn't take advantage of that situation. He legitimately landed some punches and slams on Garrett ... as did Garrett to his opponent.

I thought the ending was a great wrap-up showing Garrett's journey of self-awareness and self-acceptance.

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Hole and a heartbeat.

Monday, 22 April 2013

Welp blog, today I am just plain sad.
I'm sobby, I'm weapy, my eyes are just a little bit puffier than my normal Sunday Funday hangover eyes. My heart feels a little like it got beat with a bat and I'm pretty sure this is the equivalent to what I felt that time my high school sweetheart broke up with me and I didn't eat for 2 months.

In short, I had the greatest time of my life in NYC and the fact that I'm sitting in Florida right now sucks.

Where do I even start to recap this trip?

I guess I could start by saying that if this blog does nothing else for me in my life, it brought me to Erin and, well, that's just priceless. She's nothing short of amazing and even better in person. We're soulmates and really just the perfect amounts of similar and different all at the same time. I'm just so happy to have her in my world and I can only hope we will reside in the same city by the end of this year.

And now that I've said all of that mushy shit I will flood (Literal flood, this is going to be a very long post. You've been warned.) your eyeballs with some photos.
I should also add that there's really not that many... mostly because we forgot to stop and take photos a lot of the time. I think that's what happens when you have a really, really (reallyreally) great time.


In true fashion, I started the party on the airplane.
The flight attendant told me she wished she could join me and then she didn't charge me for the vodka. I knew then it was going to be a great trip.

When I got to Erin's block I had to pick up her keys from a man who sells scarfs (Scarf Man) because she was still at work. I felt like I was picking up drugs or something, it was really fun.

Walking into her apartment without her probably should have been really, really awkward and uncomfortable. But it wasn't. Not even a little bit. Maybe because I walked in to a bottle of wine and the best note ever. Really though, she's the greatest.

After I got myself all fresh (and so clean, clean) I popped that bottle of vino open and waited impatiently for her to get off work to come play with me. It was seriously exhilarating. I mean, it's one thing to meet a stranger out for a drink in public... it's quite another to be drinking wine in their house when they aren't there. 

Needless to say, when she walked in I attacked her and then we became insta-best friends forever. Seriously though. There wasn't an awkward moment the entire 4 days I was there.

Once we exchanged presents and laughs and took pictures in tiaras and shots of Fireball (which, for the record, Erin enjoyed.), we got ready to go to the Yankees game!

Erin even decked me out in Yanks gear, which I really loved.

After the game we went out and frolicked all over Manhattan.

Friday morning we woke up without hangovers and it was astonishing, really. This ended up being a much appreciated trend for the duration of my stay. I think it just means we're perfect for each other and need each other in our lives always. Yes, that's exactly what it means.

Also, Erin's the best because she just brings the whole damn pitcher of water to bed. 

PS. You see her adorable decor back there? Yeah, her entire apartment looks like Martha Stewart designed it. I was just kind of (a lot) obsessed. I'm just going to live on her couch, I think. 

We headed to Little Italy/Chinatown Friday afternoon for lunch in Little Italy and cheap $5 sunglasses in Chinatown. 

Also, let the record show that the two of us were called sisters at least once a day. I don't hate it.

All I wanted was pasta and sangria... it turned out that the restaurant we chose didn't have sangria. We stayed anyways and within about 10 minutes of us sitting there, our server walked across the street and walked back with a full pitcher of sangria in hand.

Just for us. It was just spectacular. 

Once lunch was over we headed to Wall Street for some happy hour action with the suits of NYC. 

I can't report too much on the rest of this evening because it's not blog appropriate in the slightest but I will say that if you are single and living in the city of Manhattan, go sit in front of the Trump Tower on Wall Street. Just take my word for it.

Seriously.

Saturday we had plans to go to a hockey game in dirrrrrty Jersey which meant we had to hop a train over there. Being the classy broads that Erin and I are, we got ourselves some Taco Bell and some Miller Lites and waited on the floor of Penn Station for our train. 

Also note we wore our awesome shirts this day, made by Erin. Because she is brilliant.

And she also knows the way to my heart.

One of Erin's friends hooked us up with some pretty baller club level seats with unlimited food. It was just spectacular. 

Shout out to you, friend, for the tix... even if you are currently on my shit list. You know why.

This next picture warms my heart for 2 reasons.

1. Obviously the shirts.

2. You can clearly see both of our curvy spines in it. True love.

The rest of this night was not blog appropriate either.

Moving on..

Yesterday we took a stroll around Central Park and I found my new Princess Palace.

I guess I should also add that my flight yesterday was supposed to leave at 9:30am.

And I did not leave until 7:30pm.

And then we went to brunch which consisted of free lemon drop shots, unlimited mimosas, eggs, and some other stuff. 

Believe it or not, yesterday was the first and only time Erin and I talked blogging the entire trip.

The rest of yesterday was dedicated to day drinking and spending as much of my last few hours there together as possible. It was amazing and fun and sad.

Actually, just thinking about wrapping this post up is making me sad all over again.

When Erin put me in the cab to go to the airport we hugged, and hugged, and hugged a lot more. And then started the sob fest of 2013 by yours truly. I was a mess the entire way to the airport, the entire flight, the entire car ride back to my apartment... and maybe once or twice this morning. Maybe.

Erin, thank you for the greatest 4 day NYC trip ever and thank you even more for having me. You are the orange juice to my mimosa. The drunk apples to my sangria. The Miller Lite to my paper bag. The Drunk 1 and 1/2 to my Drunk 1. I'll see you soon. And hopefully we'll be neighbors soon after that. I love you sooo much and I'm so lucky to call you one of my best friends!

And that's that. 

I'm off to go be sad some more. And maybe start trying to find someone in NYC who needs a dog walker or something. 

Over and out.

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