2011: The Year in Review

In full disclosure, I've been dreading this post. Completely dreading it.

The one thing I promised myself when I started blogging (in 2004) was that I wouldn't pretend. From the start, I promised to be nothing but myself in my blog. It would be easy for me to write about sunshine, butterflies, and rainbows. It would be easy to post recipes, share poems and inspirational quotes, and make jokes. In fact, I'd probably have more followers if I did that.

But, that's not me.

I don't cook, I'm not girly, and I don't have interesting housekeeping or fashion tips to share. Try as I might, I'm not sunshine, butterflies, and rainbows. Far from it, in fact.

Usually, I put a pretty good front up for people. Those who know me best, however, know that I'm unbelievably emotional and dynamic. Throughout the course of my life, this has been both my greatest blessing and my darkest curse.

I'm passionate, romantic, creative, and overflowing with life. I'm also obsessive, fatalistic, dramatic, and cynical. I overthink things, I have extremely high (often unrealistic) expectations, and unrelenting pessimism. This, as I'm sure you can imagine, is a horrible combination.

This lengthy explanation of my personality has finally led me to the original point of this post:

2011 has been the worst year of my life...and I'm not even sure why.

Some pretty amazing things happened this year. I wore my cheesehead with pride as the Green Bay Packers won the Super Bowl. I celebrated Green Beer Day in Oxford with some of my favorite people. We celebrated Jenn's birthday in style with a penthouse downtown. I started Man Meat Monday. I spent a few days in New York City. I stalked the Penguins at practice and met goalie Marc-Andre Fleury. I watched the strongest person I know graduate from Marine boot camp on Parris Island.

I watched some close friends get married and even stood beside one of my dearest friends on her big day. I spent a few rejuvenating days with family in Wisconsin Dells to celebrate my grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary. I tubed down the James River in Charlottesville with my family for the 4th of July. I bowled my first (and probably only) turkey. My mind was blown by Dave Matthews Band, Ray LaMontagne, Kid Cudi, and G. Love at the DMB Caravan in Chicago. Harry Potter and Entourage came to bittersweet, yet satisfying ends.

I spent more time with my brother and Jenn broke her foot in Charlottesville at the Wiz Khalifa and Big Sean concert. The NFL lockout was lifted. A Man Meat honoree responded to my infinite creepiness. I met Rick Nash at Columbus Blue Jackets' Fest. I relaxed by the pool and in front of the Bellagio fountains with my mom in Vegas. I spent some priceless time with my brother in San Diego. I watched a live taping of Jeopardy.

I hung out at Brick Street with the Columbus Blue Jackets. I was reminded of my childhood when I camped at Cowan Lake. I dressed up as Waldo and went to Oxford for Halloween. I bought my first pair of jeans. I sang along with G. Love and Phish. I was introduced to The Walking Dead. The Cincinnati Bengals impressed me with a strong season during what should have been a "rebuilding" year.

My wildest dreams came true in Pittsburgh when Jenn took me to meet Evgeni Malkin, Sidney Crosby, Jordan Staal, and company. Jenn and I traveled to Raleigh to watch my Penguins beat the Hurricanes. Regis Philbin hit on my mom. My brother came home for his birthday and Christmas.

As you can see, I have no real reason to complain. I often say I'm the luckiest girl in the world because, well, I am. So, why do I feel this way? Even worse, I get mad at myself for feeling so depressed when I have it so good...and the cycle continues.

This was the worst year of my life because I made it the worst year of my life. I lost my brother to the Marine Corps and my dad to alcoholism. Instead of sucking it up and getting a less-than-dream job, I didn't. I stayed home every single day, looking for jobs that simply didn't exist. I stayed up all night, woke up too late, and spent the majority of my time alone.

I had successful knee surgery, but it trapped me at home. I felt friendships slip away and, instead of making the effort to maintain them, I became bitter at their lack of effort. I felt alone, jealous, and second-rate when everyone I knew had something better to do. Instead of finding my own life, I wallowed in self-pity and became jealous of everyone else's. I cried because I couldn't get my dream job and I still lived at home. I cried because I couldn't find a boyfriend. I cried because everyone else seemed to have their shit together while I, the girl voted 'Most Likely to Succeed' in high school, had no clue.

I still have no clue. I feel like Kristen Wiig's character in Bridesmaids, except without the hot, Irish cop encouraging me to continue baking. This year hasn't worked out how I'd hoped, but even more disappointing is the way I've dealt with it. My entire life I've been a hard worker and I've always done well. For the first time in my life, I am looking back at the last year and cannot find a single reason to be proud of myself.

This isn't easy to admit.

So, here comes a new year. Like I mentioned in my last post, I'm not usually one for resolutions. I would, however, love a reason to start fresh. So, my resolution is to get moving. Get over the things I can't change and start working on the things I can. Bad things happen to everyone. What makes the difference is how you deal with them.

I may not have a clue what I'm doing, but what's important is that I start doing it.

I'm still alive!

There is absolutely no way around this. I have been an awful blogger.

So, in an effort to catch you up on my life, I'll give you some easy bullet points.

- Since I last blogged, my sister celebrated her 22nd birthday and my brother celebrated his 21st!



- Much to our extreme happiness, my brother's leave was approved and he got to fly home for his birthday and Christmas! I don't even think I need to say this, but it was so wonderful to see him. Words cannot describe how complete we feel when he's with us. I do, however, have a few new bruises because of our semi-constant wrestling. Victory used to be crushing him into submission. Times have changed. Now that he's a green belt in karate, I consider myself victorious when I don't pee my pants.

- Like last year, I made some Penguins Christmas cookies. Unlike last year, they looked absolutely horrible. I did, however, make a little Marc-Andre Fleury in the net. Creativity points, at least?



- I must have been a good girl this year because Santa was more than generous to me. The coolest present? A Nikon Coolpix camera (with sports mode). That, of course, is a perfect excuse to buy some Penguins tickets... My favorite present? Having my brother home for probably our last family Christmas for awhile.



- Speaking of the Penguins, Santa must know I'm a bit of a fan. Between my parents and grandparents, I received Penguins slippers, an Iceburgh pillow pet, Malkin and Crosby Pittsburgh magazines, the 2009 Stanley Cup DVD, the 24/7 Penguins and Capitals DVD, a Penguins towel, an Evgeni Malkin poster, a Sidney Crosby print from Pensblog (LOVE this), and, because I'm sick of them saying 'NO' to me, Malkin and Crosby bobble heads.



- Speaking of Crosby, he kills me. Although he's been out of the line-up with recurring concussion symptoms, he still finds a way to haunt my dreams. In the most recent installment of Pens TV 'In the Room,' he interacted with a little girl by simply saying, "Hi."




Clearly, Sidney Crosby is in the business of melting my soul. Business is good.

- Two recent obsessions:

Tiny Tower. It's a free game for your smart phone that reminds me of The Sims. You basically earn money to build a tower that is made up of various stores and apartments. I suggest you play it, but I'm warning you - it's addictive.

M83. I cannot stop listening to this band. They belong to the shoegazing genre, which is known primarily for reverb effects and soft vocals. Although the band formed in 2001, they sound like the best '80s music you've ever heard. Seriously, synth-pop, cheesy narration, and saxophone solos galore. This is my favorite by them, but it's all pretty good.



- For perhaps only the third time in my life, I actually have cool plans for New Year's Eve. On Friday, I am leaving for Memphis with Jenn and her dad to see the University of Cincinnati take on Vanderbilt in the Liberty Bowl. I can't wait. Football, blues music, Beale Street, and BBQ in the home of Elvis Presley sounds perfect to me. I think New Year's Eve is remarkably overrated, but maybe this will change my mind a bit.

- I'm also not usually one for New Year's resolutions. This year, however, I have a major one: MOVE FORWARD. Whether that means grad school, a job, or even an unpaid internship, I need to move forward. I'm ready for the next step in my life. Beyond ready.

So, I apologize for the delay. I'm back with a new camera and discounted candy canes. How was your Christmas? Do you have any plans for New Year's Eve?

That time I got hit by a car.

For absolutely no good reason, I've been a horrible blogger lately. If Santa decided who was naughty and nice by their blogging habits, I would be receiving a lump of coal this year. That would be totally fine with me, as long as 'lump of coal' was actually code for 'Evgeni Malkin covered in nothing but soot.'

I didn't slice any Man Meat because I've been distraught about Crosby's recurring concussion symptoms. I didn't do a Glee-cap because it has been disappointing me so much lately. I haven't blogged about my life because nothing has been happening.

So, I will tell you a story - a story I promised my good friend Julie a long time ago.

As I've mentioned multiple times, I had the extraordinary privilege of attending Miami University for four glorious years. I know I'm biased, but the campus is truly one of the most beautiful in the country. The gorgeous, brick dormitories are surrounded by well-kept grass and enormous, full trees.

Sophomore year, I lived on the third floor of Ogden Hall.



Unlike many other dorms, Ogden didn't have a parking lot. So, during finals, residents would park their cars in the grass to make the moving process easier.

One particularly dreary evening during exam week, I was making my way to Shriver to meet my friends for dinner. There were a few cars parked in the grass and students were darting back and forth through the drizzling rain, carrying boxes and books from the building to their cars. I actually quite liked the feel of the cool rain on my skin and took my time through the grass.

However, as I made my way behind a nearby car, I noticed its red brake lights turn off. Unfortunately, I noticed a little too late and before I could even react, it reversed directly into me, knocking me over onto the grass.

In complete honesty, the next two minutes are pretty hazy. I remember thinking my pants would be muddy. I remember the adrenaline rush as I started to shake. I remember thinking, "No freaking way."

I remember the driver, throwing the car into park, swinging the door open in a frenzy, and dashing out into the rain to my rescue. Then, in another completely bizarre life moment, I noticed that, in her rush to check on me, the driver had spilled an open box of menstrual pads all over the ground.

So, I sat there in complete shock, on the ground in front of my college dorm, covered in rain and wondering three things: 1. Had she really not seen me? I'm pretty hard to miss. 2. What should I do now? and 3. Why did she have an open box of menstrual pads sitting on her lap while she was driving?

As you can imagine, the girl was concerned. Really, really concerned. She apologized profusely and asked repeatedly if I was okay. With adrenaline coursing through me and no apparent pain, I assured her I was and slowly stood up. Then, I resorted to my first line of defense and did what I do best. Not unlike Bernice in Dodgeball, I burst into tears and ran away.



So, there you have it. I can cross being hit by a car off my bucket list. That, of course, implies that being hit by a car was on my bucket list in the first place. It wasn't, but there is one thing I wouldn't mind getting hit by.

Why not?

...because it's Friday and I have nothing else to say for myself.



Have a great weekend, everyone!

That time Regis Philbin hit on my mom.

The strangest thing ever happened last Wednesday.

As a child, I grew up on my parents' music, movies, and television. I listened to Elton John, Elvis Presley, and Simon and Garfunkel. I memorized A Chorus Line, Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory, and The Sound of Music. I spent my afternoons with Oprah, my evenings with Alex Trebek, and my mornings with Regis Philbin.

So, when Regis announced that he would be retiring this year, I was pretty shocked. My mom, on the other hand, was borderline devastated. True to form, we both cried throughout his final episode of Live! with Regis and Kelly. Then, we learned that Joseph-Beth Booksellers was hosting Regis for a book signing downtown. It didn't take more than 10 seconds for my mom to pick up the phone, pre-order his autobiography, and reserve our spot in line.

Finally, the day arrived. Mom was amped like her team made it to the Super Bowl and I conferenced with her on the list of potential one-liners she could deliver to Regis. Although we showed up at the bookstore over an hour early, we were greeted by hundreds of other die-hards and a number of local TV news vans.

As you would expect, nearly the entire line was composed of middle-aged women. Some were wearing homemade Regis-themed shirts, others were wearing Regis & Kelly shirts purchased from the official store. There were also a few men in line, some clearly suffering through the ordeal with their wives and others wearing Notre Dame paraphernalia.

At 7:00 sharp, Regis appeared at the top of the stairs with a microphone in hand. The crowd broke into raucous applause and began to chant, "REGIS! REGIS!" As I started to wonder if this was actually a stop on his presidential campaign, Regis launched into a story in the way only he can. He told us that Cincinnati has always held a special place in his heart. He used to make appearances on the Cincinnati news with his good friend, Nick Clooney. He mentioned some of his favorite places downtown and said that he remembered "little Georgie" running around.

He also told us an entertaining story about a drunken escapade he shared with George Clooney a few years ago in Italy. When he finished, he thanked everyone for coming out and sat down to sign the books. The line of excited fans slowly began to snake its way through the rows of books and up the stairs.

Over the years, my mom has been to an embarrassing amount of autograph signings with me. I remember her trying to talk me out of a nervous breakdown in the line for Brian Urlacher. I remember her assuring me, through my string of whispered cusswords, that I would get a ticket for Rick Nash. So, when the tables were turned, I knew I had to return the favor. I moved into passout-prevention mode.

As we made our way up the stairs, I snapped a couple pictures of the man himself.



Posed pictures, personalized messages, and extended conversation were strictly prohibited. So, my mom decided to go with, "HI, REGIS! THANKS FOR BEING HERE!" Finally, it was our turn. I pointed my camera at them and snapped this picture.



She exclaimed her pre-determined lines with the fervor of a child meeting Santa Clause at the mall. Then, he looked up at her and said the single strangest, yet hilarious thing I could ever imagine.

Regis Philbin looked right at my mom and said, "You look good...in that coat."

I emphasize the word 'good' because he did. Simultaneously, my mom started to laugh like a nervous schoolgirl, my jaw hit the floor, and a security guard escorted us away.

It took me a second to process what just happened. Regis Philbin, the harmless, endearing old man I grew up with on my TV screen, had just looked at my mom and told her she was hot. My mom, with her big smile and her leather biker jacket, had just been hit on by Regis Francis Xavier Philbin.

There was an unreal vibe in the car on the way home. You should have seen the look on her face as she told my dad. I wondered what Joy Philbin would think. I started to imagine how I would have reacted if Jordan Staal had told me I looked good in my glasses. You have to admit - I do have one hot momma.



I skimmed through his autobiography and saw cute, cheesy anecdotes galore. I contemplated writing my own autobiography.

This would definitely make an interesting chapter.

Man Meat Monday #34

I know my blog has been nothing but hockey lately, and I promise I'll try my best to cool it, but it's Monday. You know what that means.

...and I've spent WAY too much time near this hunk of Man Meat lately not to choose him. I'm VERY curious to see if anyone agrees with me on this one. At long last, I present...

Evgeni Malkin

Claim to Fame: Center for and Alternate Captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins

Birthday: July 31, 1986

Born and raised in Russia, Evgeni "Geno" Malkin played in the Russian Superleague for three years before literally escaping to the United States to play for the Penguins. In order to do so, he had to leave his family, friends, country, and comfort zone at the age of 19, moving to an unfamiliar place where not only did he know no one, but he didn't even know the language.

Six years, one Stanley Cup, and nearly every other hockey award later, Geno feels at home in the US, has learned plenty of English, and has completely melted my heart. On a daily basis, I vacillate between wanting to shower with him and just wanting to hug him. I really cannot decide. Coach Dan Bylsma has said that of every player on the team, Geno probably has the highest IQ. Even without knowing the language, he picked things up incredibly fast and is constantly reading and learning. He acts like a big kid - he tells funny jokes and constantly plays around with his teammates. He also tweets the most incredible things in broken English. Here are a few golden examples:

"Just read that the tomato = fruit?? True?" - October 1, 2011

"I am getting ready to Halloween" - October 12, 2011



He also included this picture, which means that a 25-year-old, Russian, professional athlete took the time to decorate his backyard for Halloween. It also means that I would sell my soul to be with him.

If his big brains, talent, and personality aren't enough for you, he also has a huge...heart. (See what I did there?) He hosted the benefit I attended last month to raise money for the families of the victims of the Team Lokomotiv plane crash. I dare your eyes not to water when reading what he did after playing in a Russian hockey game for charity:



Oh yeah - he looks like that, too. His hands, his smile, his clothes, his deep voice. He even has that big oafish athlete look that tends to kill me. Speaking of kill me:



Oh, no. Don't worry. I didn't need my ovaries.

Random Tidbit: Geno owns a prison-themed restaurant back home in Russia, complete with barred windows and plank-beds for seats.

Only downfall?: He loves the Steelers. Really, he loves them.

Please notice how confused he looks when Dan Potash compares him to a Mercedes. Yes, he does say, "He pass me."



...and in his native language...



Now, I don't speak Russian at all very well, but I'm pretty sure the interviewer asked him how he feels about me. He responded something along the lines of: "Brittany fulfills a piece of my heart that I didn't know was missing. She shows me the meaning of love, makes me laugh, and makes me want to be the best version of myself. There is absolutely nothing in this life that I love more....and the sex? Mind-blowing."

Like I said, I'm not fluent. Just a rough translation.

So, readers: It's your turn. Does Geno's adorable personality chip away at you like a Russian nesting doll?

I don't know about you, but he makes me feel like this:

Christmas Came Early.

After the perfect Pittsburgh extravaganza I had with her last month, one would think Jenn has done enough for me this holiday season.

...but no. She decided to take me to Raleigh, North Carolina to see my Pens take on the Hurricanes last night. As you can imagine, it was glorious.

We filled Friday with the drive to Charlottesville. On the way, we stopped in Rio Grande, Ohio for lunch at the original Bob Evans.


We also saw a horse tied to a post at a BP...and I briefly forgot what century it was.


Saturday, we woke up early and drove to Raleigh. We stopped for lunch at a BBQ place called The Pit. I'm a complete addict for Man vs. Food, so any time I travel, I stop at Adam Richman's favorite places. The Pit didn't disappoint. The pulled pork sandwich was delicious, but absolutely nothing compared to the pumpkin cornbread.


After lunch, we headed to the RBC Center for some tailgating. There was a ridiculous amount of Penguins fans in the parking lot, so I felt right at home in my Crosby jersey. We went in early to watch the warm-ups. It was the sweetest form of torture to see Crosby and Staal stretching within throwing distance.


The game was exciting to say the least. The Penguins got off to a slow start, looking pretty tired after an extended roadtrip. Fleury had the night off, so Brent Johnson started in his 300th game in the net. The Hurricanes seemed desperate, having recently replaced their coach and hungry for an overdue win. Both squads were scoreless in the first period and, having seen the intensity of the Canes, a feeling of anxiety began to fill my stomach. The anxiety didn't keep me from taking pictures of Sid. Don't worry.



The second period only proved to make the feeling worse. Finally, after Sid outworked two Canes along the boards, he made an incredible pass to Craig Adams, who made the game 1-0. It didn't take long for the rebuttal - Jamie McBain tied the game before intermission.

The third period was one of the most intense sporting experiences I've ever witnessed in person. Arron Asham scored a beautiful goal that was followed up by another from Pascal Dupuis. With the Pens sitting pretty with a 3-1 lead, I let my guard down. Mistake.

The Canes' McBain scored his second goal of the night and all hell broke loose. Suddenly, the Penguins had unlimited players sent to the box. Staal sat there for a bit (helping me envision my ultimate penalty box fantasy even clearer) before leaving the game after taking a puck to the perfect face right in front of me. I shrieked like I saw a raccoon get hit by a car and covered my face as the blood dripped to the ice. His big brother Eric (the captain for the Hurricanes) seemed concerned, too.



In the last three minutes of the game, the Penguins had four players sent to the box. The Hurricanes pulled their goalie with over a minute left, leaving Brent Johnson to defend against a 6-3 situation. Vomit time for Brittany. As much as I wanted to admire the Pens in the penalty box, I couldn't tear my eyes from the game.



Unreal penalty killing ensued and the Pens pulled out a 3-2 win. I lost my mind and embraced the Pens fan next to me. Sweet, sweet victory.

My favorite part of the game? Geno. I am convinced he is a gigantic child. At one point, he tried to eat his jersey. At another, he sat on the wall, swinging his legs. Any time there was a stoppage in play, he looked at the jumbotron. I love that Russian.




...but you know who I love more?! THIS GIRL.

24 Years Young.

Today, I turned 24.

While reflecting on my last 24 years, I realized a few things: 1. I really need a job. 2. Man, I feel old. and 3. I am so unbelievably lucky. Then, I realized something that was kind of jarring. I know this sounds morbid, but I think I'd be okay if everything ended today.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not ready to die. I'm terrified by the prospect of death, I'm not ready to go, and there are so many things I want to do before I die. I haven't seen the Bengals win the Super Bowl and I haven't fallen head-over-heels in love. I haven't been to Spain and I haven't raised a child. I haven't made a difference and I haven't given enough back. I'm not ready to go yet.

But, when I think about my life, I realize that it's been more than enough already. I've been blessed with far more than I deserve. I have had the most incredible 24 years that anyone could ever imagine. It has been filled with so many amazing experiences, both good and bad, that have left me a much better, wiser person. It has been filled with laughter and tears, success and failure, pain and love. Most importantly, it has been filled with love and support from my friends and family.

I have done more in my 24 years than some 80-year-olds have done in their entire lives...and I have done absolutely nothing to deserve it. By some stroke of complete luck, I have fallen across the most complex, yet rewarding life. On a daily basis, it leaves me laughing, crying, learning, screaming, loving, and ultimately, living. There isn't a single day that I take it for granted.

I am 24 years old and, in a good way, I feel like 110. I can't believe how much time I should have left. Thus far, my life has felt like enough to fill five lifetimes. When I think about all the life ahead of me, I'm overcome with emotion - excitement for the future, curiosity for what it holds, and overwhelming gratitude for everything I've already had.

So, I know it's a strange thing to admit, but I'd be okay if it all ended tomorrow. Despite everything I've yet to do and the nagging feeling that something is missing, I feel so fulfilled. I have absolutely no reason to complain.

Forget the cup. My well runneth over.

Santa Baby

It goes without saying that I have a lot to be thankful for this year. My wonderful family, my amazing friends, the delicious food, good health, the undefeated Packers, and my fantastic blog friends were just a few blessings that crossed my mind throughout the day.

However, there is also something else that I'm thankful for on Thanksgiving. Every year, I use Thanksgiving as the unofficial start to my Christmas music obsession. I bust out all of my favorite Christmas CDs and listen to them non-stop until New Year's Day.

It's not a guilty pleasure. I don't care if it's annoying. It's a fact and I love it.

This year, however, I decided to write my own Christmas song. Inspired by Michael Buble's fantastic version of "Santa Baby," I wrote my own lyrics and recorded a little slideshow for you. It should come as absolutely no surprise that my Christmas list entails nothing but large, gorgeous men that wear numbers on the back of their shirts.

I apologize for the horrible sound and picture quality. I've included the lyrics, so you understand what I'm saying.



Santa doesn't usually deliver people on Christmas morning, but I'm hoping for an exception this year.

WTF Facebook Chat?

Strange things happen at 4:00 AM. I know this because I'm always awake for it. Tonight was no exception.

Most nights, I sit with the computer on my lap, trying to think of a compelling blog topic. Usually, I get sidetracked by Youtube videos, other blogs, Facebook stalking, etc.

On this particular occasion, I logged onto Facebook and was instantly messaged by someone I haven't talked to since the 5th grade. I kid you not. The 5th grade.

Do you remember how unbelievably cool AOL Instant Messenger (AIM) was? You spent hours trying to shorten all the quotes and shoutouts in your profile so that they would fit within the character limit. You loved creating clever away messages and the awesome feeling you got when reading the things people sent while you were away. If you got bored of your screenname, you created a new one and IMed all your buddies to inform them of the change. You divided your buddy list into multiple categories (ex. Besties, Boys, Girls, Younger, Older, Family, HIM OMGGGGG). You put an alarm on your crush so that you were alerted with a loud 'MOOOO!' when he/she signed on. You put more effort than you should have in deciding your background color and font.

It was basically stalking in a pre-Facebook world, but it was wonderful. It pretty much defined my entire middle school and high school experience. It helped me make plans before I had a cell phone, build new friendships, strengthen old ones, and express myself creatively long before I had a blog. It was popular, it was innocent, and it was awesome.

Facebook Chat is the polar opposite.

I'm not sure why, but it seems there is an unwritten rule book for Facebook Chat. It reads as follows:

1. Only message people you don't know or people you haven't talked to in years.
2. When messaging them, be sure to include one of the following:

A. An unbelievably strange statement that has them baffled beyond belief.
B. A strange flirtation that has them questioning their ability to attract normal members of the opposite sex.
C. Be sure to type, then delete, then type, then delete something, so that they can clearly see you're struggling with conversation.
D. Make an outlandish comment about a picture, post, or piece of information on their profile page. You must prove that you've been thoroughly stalking them.
E. All of the above

3. Optional: Ask them to hang out in the near future, even though there is an extremely slim chance of it ever happening.

Of course, there are exceptions to these rules. From time to time, I get messages from people I know and love, people I miss terribly, and family members that live far away. But, for the most part, I am usually confounded by the random assortment of people who message me on Facebook Chat (and that goes for 90% of the people that have friend requested me in the last year, too).

So, as I said, I was messaged by a guy who was in my 5th grade class - a guy who I only remember seeing once or twice since...and definitely not one I've talked to since. How do you possibly carry on a decent conversation with someone who you know absolutely nothing about, have no memories with, and don't plan on seeing ever again?

Needless to say, the conversation was short. He asked me how I was, what I was doing, and where I lived. Then, he told me I was one of his favorite people from school, he missed me, and wanted to hang out some time. Hey - at least he adhered to the Facebook Chat rules.

But, here's the best part. This brief, bizarre encounter with the boy from the back row of my 5th grade class also made my night. Here's why (for his privacy, I blurred out his name and user picture):


He asked me if the guy in my profile picture was my boyfriend.

If you can't tell by the tiny thumbnail, my profile picture is of me and Jordan Staal of the Pittsburgh Penguins. This, of course, made my night. Not only was it nice to briefly consider lying and telling him, "Absolutely and he's fantastic in bed," but it was also comforting to know that he deemed that as within the realm of possibility. Seriously, I had a total Lloyd Christmas moment from Dumb and Dumber and found myself thinking, "So you're saying there's a chance." As sad as this sounds, it was a total boost of confidence from a boy whose lasting impression on me was that he couldn't grasp the difference between the numerator and the denominator.

Man, maybe Facebook Chat is good for something.

A little more Sidney for you.

A little Man Meat update:

Sidney's first game back was nothing short of spectacular. Consol Energy Center had a playoff-like atmosphere, the crowd was beyond amped, and Sid was more than ready to get back to what he does best...which is embarrass goalies and defensemen across the league.

The stakes were high. The pressure was on. The eyes of hockey faithful were glued to their TV sets. Despite the unreal attention, scrutiny, and expectations, Sid put on a show. The Pens beat the Islanders, 5-0, and Sid finished the dramatic night as the 1st star of the game, with two goals and two assists.

He scored a beauty on his first shot of the night and I burst into tears. My parents subsequently disowned me. Watch the very end of the clip to see his priceless reaction. ESPN has been censoring his mouth on the replays.



Do you talk to your mom with that mouth? You can certainly talk to me with that mouth.

Do you think I can take some credit for his success tonight? I mean - I met him exactly one week before the announcement of his long-awaited return. I also touched his shoulder, stuttered the words "Please" and "Thanks" in his face, and stared at him like he was simultaneously the sexiest and scariest thing I've ever seen. I must have some healing power in my drool because I'm fairly certain I coated him in it.

Nevertheless, he's finally back and seems to be better than ever...and oh yeah - he's only five goals behind Ovechkin!


Welcome back, Sid! The sports world is a much better place with you in it!

Man Meat Monday #33

I know you won't believe this, but I haven't Man Meated Sidney Crosby yet. Considering how often I talk about him, this post will probably seem offensive redundant. This week, however, I have the perfect excuse to fawn over him.

Sidney Patrick Crosby is finally returning to the Penguins lineup...for the first time since the two concussions he suffered in consecutive games (January 1st and 5th - days that will live in infamy). When the Penguins texted me this glorious news, I gave my parents a collective heart attack with my reaction:



Totally worth it. So, with no further ado, I bring you...

Sidney Crosby

Claim to Fame: Center for and Captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins

Birthday: August 7, 1987 (8/7/87 - hence his hockey number #87)

The first time I saw Sidney Crosby, I thought, "He looks like an athletic Andy Samberg." And so, a passionate love affair was born. The more I learned about him, the more I liked him. He is humble, politically correct (which is fangirl code for boring), mature, gracious with fans and the press, does more charity work than I care to list, and oh.so.talented. During my time as a proud Miami Redhawk, I fell in love with hockey. Sid took that love to a whole new level. Not only did I fall in love with him (no, this isn't an overstatement), but I fell in love with his team.

By the time the 2010 Winter Olympics rolled around, I had been stalking following him for quite some time. Although I was rooting for Team USA, I was also rooting for Sid, despite the detrimental effect my traitorous allegiance had on multiple personal relationships. When he scored the Golden Goal in overtime, it was more than cemented in my mind: Sid is hockey. In his short career, he has won just about every award possible, became the youngest captain to bring home the Stanley Cup, won an Olympic gold medal, became the face of the NHL, and put hockey on the map in America.

If all of this weren't enough, look at him. Although his nickname is "Sid the Kid," he is anything but. To me, Sidney Crosby is the human equivalent of Michelangelo's David. Seemingly sculpted from muscle and skin, he is flawless, the glorious culmination of unbelievable hard work and enviable genes. Every single thing about him makes me drool. His game-worn, calloused hands, the faint scar on his chin, his thick thighs, his deliciously pouty lips, the sweat that drips tantalizingly down his chiseled jawline during post-game interviews.

Wow.

Random Tidbit: He is highly superstitious. Trust me - you want to see this.



Only downfall?: I'm tempted to say he's kinda boring...but he really isn't. He's funny in a dorky sort of way. *lovestruck sigh* Oh yeah! He thinks that horrific excuse for a mustache is an acceptable look.

Oh, look. Always the gentleman, he's offering me a place to sit.



(I apologize. Apparently, Sidney Crosby turns me into an erotic novelist)

So, readers: It's your turn. Would you let Sid get all up in your crease?

I know I'm extreme, but for him, I'd renounce my citizenship, just so I could scream "OOOOO CANADA!!!!" all night long.

...and my work here is done. I regret nothing.

Some VERY good news!

After my flawless lucid dream of meeting the Pittsburgh Penguins on Sunday, I knew that my cosmic karma would soon come around to knock me back down to earth.

Sure enough, my knee surgery on Monday did just that. Despite the fact that my surgeon was running two hours behind, the surgery actually went extremely well. So, after convincing myself that meeting the Penguins wasn't just a wonderful dream I had while anesthetized, I made my groggy way back home.

Aside from the expected knee pain, I have had some unexpected side effects to my percocet. It makes me incredibly nauseous and tired. In fact, this is the first time I've been on a computer since Monday (definitely a personal record).

Today, however, I got the news I've been wanting to hear since Monday. My giant cell tumor was BENIGN! I'm so beyond relieved and grateful for all the prayers and thoughts I've received from my friends, family, and fellow bloggers! You all mean the world to me and your overwhelming love and support has helped me more than you know this week.

...and speaking of love and support, my favorite blogger and real life friend, Julie at The Smitten Mintons, sent me the sweetest care package ever. Despite her busy life, she actually took the time to send me all kinds of wonderful goodies, including Wedding Crashers, gorgeous nail polish, my favorite lotion, some delicious candy, and a Dr. Pepper!

It put such a huge smile on my face to know that someone cares that much about me, despite the distance and never having met each other. She has the world's biggest heart and she constantly proves to me that being a true friend has absolutely nothing to do with how often you see each other. I can't thank you enough, Julie! Love you!

So, despite my limping around on crutches and the occasional clutching of the toilet bowl, I can't help thinking about how grateful I am. Grateful for my health, my family and friends, and this blog and the amazing people I've met through it.

I really am the luckiest girl alive.

Heaven on Earth is in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

Tonight was more than I could have ever imagined. Seriously.

This afternoon, Jenn and I left for Evgeni Malkin's Flight Team Lokomotiv Benefit in Pittsburgh. It was held at a nice restaurant downtown called Bossa Nova. We had absolutely no idea what to expect and, even though it said no autographs and no outside items were permitted, I brought my Crosby jersey...just in case.

When we finally arrived in Pittsburgh, we had an hour to kill. So, I fought the urge to puke, annoyed Jenn, and paced back and forth in a Starbucks for a bit. Finally, it was time.

Bossa Nova was a really, really classy place. Everyone was dressed so nicely (luckily, I actually wore a dress!), but the atmosphere was really laid-back. A DJ was playing popular music, there was a silent auction with tons of Pens items, and a raffle for various prizes. I bought more than a few tickets for the raffle, but didn't end up winning anything.

Our ticket included an open bar and tons of food. They claimed it was "hors d'oeuvres," but it was basically dinner - pizza, quesadillas, potatoes, pasta, etc. So, Jenn and I wandered around the bar for a while, trying our best to be as inconspicuous as possible.

Then, I saw him. Suddenly, in the corner of the bar, acting like he wasn't a god in human clothing, I spotted Geno. I couldn't help it. I actually started crying.

I know I have a problem with my celebrity/athlete worship. I know that my idolatry is in all the wrong places, but I couldn't help it. There he was, acting completely normal and talking to total strangers. Always the voice of reason, Jenn told me to pull it together. I tried my best.

We posted ourselves at the bar, where I ordered a Pepsi and Jenn went to work with the wine. Not even 20 minutes later, while looking around the room, I spotted the man, the myth, the legend - Sidney Crosby. Again, I started crying.

I realized that I would never feel comfortable enough to enjoy myself until I got pictures with my lovers favorite hockey players. So, I worked up the courage and finally approached Sid.

I hate to admit this, but I didn't say anything of substance to him. I simply couldn't. I just asked him for a picture, he obliged, I pet his shoulder like he was an injured puppy (I guess he kind of is), thanked him, and melted into the floor.


Next, Geno - the Russian angel of my dreams. I could try, but I could never accurately explain the level of cuteness achieved by his speaking voice. He really must be a Bond villain (WUYS girls) because he was trying to kill me in his button-up cardigan and vertical stripe pants.


The whole rest of the night was basically a blur. Every single time I turned around, I saw a different Penguin. I thought I was in heaven at Brick Street with the Columbus Blue Jackets? This was an alternate universe with nothing but gorgeous professional athletes, Dr. Pepper showers, and complete bliss.

In total, there were twelve Penguins in attendance: Evgeni Malkin, Sidney Crosby, Jordan Staal, James Neal, Paul Martin, Chris Kunitz, Marc-Andre Fleury, Brooks Orpik, Matt Cooke, Craig Adams, Steve Sullivan, and Richard Park. They posed by a beautiful ice sculpture, so I took a creeper pic. (I don't know where Orpik and Martin were for this)


Later in the night, I happened to see Sidney sign a little kid's jersey. So, after a brief conference with Jenn, I decided to go to the car, get my jersey, sneak it in, and work up the courage to ask him to sign it. The last part, of course, was easier said than done. I just stood there, watching him like a hawk watches its prey...except in this case, the hawk was absolutely terrified.

Out of nowhere, he made a sudden turn toward me and I realized if I didn't do it now, it might not happen. So, I walked right up to him and, instead of being suave, charming, or hilarious, I just stuck my Sharpie in his face and said, "Please?" I define cool.

Being the perfect, kind captain he is, he signed my jersey. Then, in a moment that will somehow both satisfy and haunt my dreams forever, he turned to me like I could continue talking to him. He literally stood there, looking at me and smiling shyly, waiting for me to say something to him other than the "THANKS" I had already whispered. Yet, even with his endearing invitation for conversation and the knowledge that this would NEVER happen again, I just smiled, sighed, and walked away. Idiot. Oh well, at least I have THIS:


The last player that I needed in my mouth a picture with was former Man Meat Monday honoree Jordan Staal. So, like the professional stalkers we are, Jenn and I found him and made our way over. Like Geno's adorable voice, Jordan Staal's body evades accurate description.

Unlike the rest of the players, Jordan seemed to have this insane animal magnetism about him. He was tall, almost awkwardly so, but incredibly confident. He kept taunting me by casually sipping his beer and I can assure you - I have never wanted to be an inanimate object more in my entire life. It literally took everything in me to keep from hurling myself in his general direction.

He started to walk past us, and again, I redefined cool. I tapped him on the shoulder a few times, he looked down at me, and I asked for a picture. He said, "Of course," then wrapped his enormous arm around me. *melt* Right before Jenn took the picture, he started kicking his shoe around frantically. Confused, I looked down and saw what appeared to be a green poker chip. With his arm still around me, he asked, "Is that a lime?" then tried to kick it away. Being 6'4" must throw off your depth perception a bit, because he missed, and kicked my foot instead. I didn't mind. At all.


I also got a picture with Paul Martin and James Neal (who is currently tied for the 2nd most goals in the NHL this season). No big deal.


So, as you can see, the night was a HUGE success. Not only did I avoid the police, sexual harassment charges, and restraining orders, but I got to touch take pictures with my favorite Penguins, got Geno's autograph, completed my Canadian Olympic dream team by getting a signed Crosby jersey (to go alongside my Rick Nash one), and helped support a great cause in the process.

...and it's all because of Jenn, the best friend on planet Earth. Thanks a lot, Jenn. You are responsible for my life peaking at the tender age of 23. It's all downhill from here.

Pre-Op Celebration

On Monday, I'm having knee surgery. The doctors think I have a giant cell tumor on my right knee. Usually, they are benign, but just to be safe, I am having it removed. In full disclosure, I'm a bit afraid. I've never been knocked out before and, although I'm trying not to think about it, I'm nervous about the biopsy results.

However, between now and then, I have a lot of things to help distract me.

Sunday, Jenn and I are driving to Pittsburgh for Evgeni Malkin's benefit for Flight Team Lokomotiv. Did I mention she's the best friend ever? Not only will Geno be there, but some of his teammates are attending to show their support for the victims' families. Our tickets include heavy hors d'oeuvres, cocktails, and a complimentary signed photo of Geno himself.


The whole event sounds unbelievably classy. This, of course, means I shouldn't be attending. It will take every ounce of my will power to not jump on Geno like a trampoline. I haven't even allowed myself to fathom what will happen if Sid is there. Mix in a little Staalsy and I'm getting arrested. No question.

Seriously, what should I do? How do I say something other than, "I want you?" This is a "mix and mingle" event. I can't "mix and mingle" with these guys without the use of saliva. What am I supposed to do?


Either way, I'll probably blog about the glorious experience on Monday, completely sedated by a mixture of heavy-duty pain killers and Geno-induced ecstasy.

Wish me luck on both fronts!

A sexy Glee-cap.

I know that I've let my fellow Gleeks down this season with my lack of Glee-caps, but Tuesday's episode was far too saucy to pass up. I haven't been too impressed with this season as a whole. I blame that partially on the music choices, but even mediocre Glee is better than no Glee at all.

Here are my thoughts on "The First Time" (how fitting since it's my first Glee-cap!):

- Where on earth did the important subplots go? Puck kissed Shelby. Am I the only one who thinks that should have been at least mentioned this week? Quinn is still losing her mind about stealing Beth. Where was that? Brittany and Santana's secret love affair? McKinley High's new Irish student? Mercedes and her brand new glee club, The Troubletones? I guess the world comes to a standstill when sex is involved.

+ Love. Love. Love. I am so proud of Glee for handling the sex issue with some dignity. Although it does seem that every character has now done the deed except Emma (and I think something should be said for choosing to REMAIN a virgin), I'm so glad that the producers treated the topic with respect. They stressed that sex should be shared between two people that LOVE each other and only when the time is right. Finn denied Rachel's advances at first because she let it slip that she wanted to improve her acting skills by experiencing her own "sexual awakening." It sends a good message that that wasn't a good enough reason to lose your virginity. Kurt refused to do anything with Blaine while he was drunk in the back of a car. Although Glee could stress that it's okay not to have sex at all (seriously - why are you a loser if you choose not to have sex?), I appreciate that they handled the subject delicately and stressed that sex can and should be meaningful.

+ I also LOVE that Kurt and Blaine had sex! Leave it to Ryan Murphy to take a gay couple further on network television than any other show! Glee is doing wonders for the gay community, stereotypes, and tolerance in general. It's almost like I don't have to mention it because they don't seem different than any other couple.

+ Kurt and Blaine nuzzled noses. You saw it. I saw it. I died.


- Speaking of Kurt and Blaine, who is this devious new Warbler trying to steal Blaine away? (His name is Sebastian, but I don't want to encourage him by using his name) Get. Out. GET OUT!

+ Bieste has a boyfriend. It's about time. Seriously though, how do I attract an OSU scout?

- The Warblers' rendition of Billy Joel's "Uptown Girl" was probably the worst song I've heard them do. Maybe it was the absence of Blaine's gorgeous voice, but I wasn't too impressed.

+ The return of Karofsky! He has feelings! He talks to Kurt like a civil human being! He still looks good!

- Am I the only one who feels like the Mike Chang vs. parents storyline is oddly forced? It's really sad, but it doesn't fit in very effortlessly. It seemed so out of place this week. I feel like maybe his dad will threaten to waterboard him next.

+ No Schue, Emma, or Sue. I could have used a couple one-liners from Sue, but for the most part, I like it when the show is entirely student-centric.

- It was highly inappropriate for Artie to suggest that Rachel and Blaine have sex. It was also highly inappropriate that he discussed virginity with Coach Bieste. What on earth is going on here? If a high school boy ever approached a female teacher and asked if she'd ever had sex before, there would be serious repercussions.

- I think we all know those fake IDs wouldn't have worked for Kurt and Blaine. Why on EARTH did Kurt say "Aloha" to the bouncer? That's the #1 way to get kicked out.

+ I completely agree with Kurt's bucket list. Have relations on a dewy meadow of lilac with Taylor Lautner, before he gets fat? Sign me up. Blaine and Taylor Lautner? Great taste, Kurt.

- Brittany was apparently raped by a martian at cheerleading camp?! Ummm...was this lost on anyone else? Not funny to me in the slightest. Apparently, rape is okay if it happens to silly Brittany.

+ I like that the "sex scenes" weren't graphic at all. Don't get me wrong. I wouldn't have minded a couple shirtless shots of Finn or Blaine. Still, they got the point across in a classy way.

+/- I cannot decide how I feel about Blaine's outfits. They are ridiculous, but I think I love them. Where do you stand on the issue?

So, fellow gleeks, what did you think of this week's not-so sexy episode? I think it was the best of the season so far.

Travel Disaster.

I know I've blogged before about the amazing 2-week trip I took to Peru with my dad in 2006. I detailed our adventures on the floating island of Uros and the amazing sunset we watched on Lake Titicaca. I neglected, however, to tell you about the absolute disaster I experienced in Cusco a few days earlier.

When we first arrived in Peru, we spent a couple days exploring the capital city of Lima. We strolled through the Plaza de Armas, toured historic churches, ate at wonderful restaurants, and took secretive pictures of skulls in the catacombs.


After our brief stint in Lima, we flew to Cusco, the historic capital of the Inca Empire located not too far from Machu Picchu. While boarding the plane, my dad mentioned in passing that Cusco was 11,200 feet above sea level and that some tourists experience altitude sickness due to the reduced air pressure and lower levels of oxygen. I, being the confident traveler I am, shrugged it off and fell asleep.

When our flight landed in Cusco, I didn't notice any symptoms and assured my dad that I felt completely fine. As we made our way to the tiny baggage claim area, I saw a number of posters on the wall, written in English, that warned of altitude sickness and its effects. I scoffed as we got our bags and hopped in a taxi to our hotel.

However, as my dad checked in at the front desk, I started to feel dizzy and nauseous. I assumed the feeling would pass as I became acclimated, so I agreed to drop our bags off in the room and explore Cusco. This was my first mistake.

Five minutes later, I was lying on the ground in the Plaza Mayor, gasping for breath and losing my vision. Tourists and locals alike stared at me like I was the drunk girl, incapacitated and drooling, in the corner of a college bar. Luckily, we hadn't ventured far from the hotel, so my dad ran back to get help.

So, there I was, practically unconscious, laying by myself on the ground in the middle of Cusco's equivalent to Times Square (which, as you can imagine, is absolutely nothing like Times Square).


After what felt like an eternity had passed, my dad returned with the desk clerk from the hotel. Like a drunk groomsman after a wedding, they helped me stagger back to the lobby and strapped an oxygen mask on my face. I instantly felt better. They also force-fed me a couple cups of scalding hot coca tea, which is said to help alleviate the symptoms of altitude sickness. Coca tea is made from coca leaves, the raw material used in the manufacture of cocaine. It tasted like boiling grass water and I nearly gagged as I choked it down. I also couldn't help but think that this was the closest I had ever come to recreational drug use, aside from definite contact buzz at Dave Matthews Band concerts.

When I felt good enough to stand up, we made our way to the room for a long nap. My dad had scheduled a tour of the city later in the day, so he wanted me to rest and acclimate as much as possible.

When I woke up from my nap, I felt miserable. Totally miserable. However, we only had a limited amount of time in Cusco before leaving for Aguas Calientes. I wanted to see the city and I didn't want to be a burden on my dad. So, despite my better judgment, I decided to go on the tour of the city. This was my second mistake.

My stomach churned as we drove from site to site. On multiple occasions, I refused to leave the bus while the rest of my tour group got out and explored first-hand. Although I was mostly concentrating on keeping the contents of my stomach inside my stomach, I listened to our tour guide share the history of the Incas with us. I also noticed an extremely attractive, Australian guy, traveling by himself in our tour group. At the first possible moment, I did what I do best and completely embarrassed myself by awkwardly bringing up the first Australian thing that came to mind besides kangaroos and the Sydney Opera House: AC/DC. This was my third mistake.


This is my creeper photo of the hot Australian. I know he doesn't look particularly great here. In his defense, he didn't know I was taking it and didn't pose accordingly. You'll have to take my word for it.

At one of the final stops on the tour, we reached Sacsayhuaman (say it fast - you'll laugh), an incredible Inca fortress that served primarily as sacred sacrificial grounds during Inti Raymi, the Festival of the Sun. I was far too intrigued by the idea of the ancient celebration and I decided to venture off the bus and explore with the rest of the group. This was my final mistake.

As we made our way to the grounds, I started to feel more and more nauseous. I felt a tiny sense of relief when our group finally stopped walking for a quick bit of information from the guide. However, as he began to share gruesome details of the llama sacrifices held annually on those very grounds, I knew it was too late. I was crossing the vomit threshold.

Sure enough, in the middle of his enticing story, I hit my dad as a warning, keeled over, and threw up for a solid 30 seconds on sacred Inca sacrificial grounds - in front of my entire tour group and the smokin' hot Australian. Yikes.

As is usually the case, I instantly felt better. Instead of nausea, a feeling of humiliation and fear came over me. Throwing up on sacred ground and the site of an important religious festival has to be bad luck. Right? For the second time that day, everyone stared at me with a mixture of confusion, pity, and amusement. My Australian Prince Charming unzipped his backpack and rushed to my rescue with a roll of toilet paper. My dad laughed hysterically.

Suddenly, a number of old, Peruvian street vendors appeared, seemingly out of thin air. One poured some minty potion from a tiny vial on his thumb and dragged it across my forehead, Rafiki-style. Another put a few coca leaves in my hand and told me to chew them. A third tried to sell me an alpaca rug and some Inca Cola, which oddly enough tastes worse than coca tea. My dad took a picture.


Please notice I'm holding coca leaves. The look on my face screams a combination of, "Is this real life?" and "Dear God, the Australian touched me."

So, there it is. My absolute travel disaster. But hey, if I'm ever selected as a contestant, my puke extravaganza makes for a pretty good Jeopardy story. The trip itself, however, was absolutely amazing and probably the best adventure I've ever been on with my dad. I learned so much on that trip that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. I will always have a bit of Peru with me and, although it was unintentional, I left a bit of myself in Peru, too...

I just hope no one stepped in it.

Feeling Something.

Since college ended, I have generally been unhappy, unmotivated, disillusioned, and cynical. I have felt worthless, alone, misunderstood, plagued with fear, and completely lost. Since my situation could be considerably worse, I felt selfish and pathetic talking about it. So, I didn't. I just lived in it and became used to it, frozen in time and completely numb.

However, the last couple months have been worse. I have felt detached from others and irrationally anxious. I just wrote an incredibly long post on how terrified, stressed, angry, and sad I have been lately. I detailed all of my problems, stresses, fears, concerns, and annoyances. When I finished it, I re-read it in its entirety and I realized something.

It's better to feel something rather than nothing at all.

That is the beauty of being alive and I've forgotten that in recent years. The most perfect, the most unique, and the most amazing thing about being alive is the up and the down. This earth is beautiful because it is imperfect. In the midst of our anguish, we find happiness. It's the beautiful balance of being human and I forgot to embrace it.

Being aware of my feelings isn't annoying or pathetic. It's healthy and it's right. It's beautiful and it's constructive. Embracing myself (with all of my flaws and insecurities), rather than avoiding myself, is the key. The only way to make things right is to realize that they aren't yet. When you let yourself experience negative feelings, you have something to contrast against the positive ones. You can only truly appreciate the up when you've suffered through the down.

This is my down and I'm tired of being numb to it...because feeling something is always worth the pain.

Some smiles for the week.

My life isn't bad. In fact, my life is nearly perfect. I have an incredible family, amazing friends, and very few reasons to complain.

Somehow, I still find reasons to be sad. Between the absence of my siblings, some recent medical issues, and my lack of purpose that has been plaguing me since college ended, I've been down in the dumps lately.

So, I've decided to share some things that have made me smile this week...because it isn't about the load you have to handle. It's about how you handle it.

+ My Cincinnati Bengals are 5-2. WHO-DEY?!

+ Despite its ridiculously stupid advertising campaign and misleading name, Dr. Pepper Ten is delicious. Seriously though, it's 10 calories per 8 fluid ounces and a standard can is 12 fl oz.

+ I know I've already talked about it, but I'm seriously hooked on The Walking Dead. If you don't watch it already, start. I can't wait for Sunday.

+ Jonathan Toews is shirtless at least once a day.



+ For my birthday, Jenn bought us tickets to go to Evgeni Malkin's benefit dinner for the families of the players of Team Lokomotiv that were killed in a horrific plane crash in September. Not only is it for a great cause, but I will be very, very close to Evgeni Malkin and some of his fellow Penguins. Dangerously close. On second thought, this could be a very bad thing.



Keep me away from that behind.

+ I promise this is worth the watch. I want the two boys at the end.



+ I don't care if it's wrong. I've been listening to Christmas music. I can't help it. Michael Buble's new Christmas CD is too good.

What's making you smile this week?