My Thoughts on the Treadmill

Thanks to a combination of laziness, Thanksgiving, and my antidepressant, I've gained 20 pounds...in three months. It's not easy to read or write that sentence.

Weight has always been my greatest struggle, the Roger Klotz to my Doug Funnie, the eternal enemy I'm destined to battle for the rest of my life. Over the years, I've begrudgingly accepted that fact. I've even used my inability to lose weight as a convenient excuse to be even lazier: I'll just walk one mile today because that's better than nothing, right? It's not like eating this red velvet cupcake is going to make a difference. I mean, I can't lose that much weight because I don't have the money to buy a new wardrobe. These are actual thoughts that have crossed and continue to cross my mind.

When I realized that I'd never be skinny (and that was sometime during second grade), I immediately got to work on other aspects of my personality. I read a ton, started piano lessons, and refined my sense of humor and quick wit. Surely being strong in these areas would compensate for the number on the scale and my inability to fit in small roller coasters!

It didn't take more than one elementary school bully and the lack of attention from guys in middle school to realize I was wrong. You mean, you aren't attracted to my ability to spell?! But I can explain the metaphors in The Great Gatsby (aka let you copy my homework)! Sure, I'm not a cheerleader, but I actually know the hand signals used by referees to indicate which penalty you just received!

And though my weight and the embarrassing scolding sessions from my pediatrician served as the source of many childhood tears, I gradually came to accept my lot in life.  My very large lot.

In fact, I've even sort of found ways to embrace my slightly-more-than-chubby figure. Sure, my thighs are huge, but look at that butt! I can pinch roughly seven inches around my waist, but my boobs sure do look awesome when properly hoisted. I'm fat, so I certainly don't need to spend any money on summer dresses, pencil skirts, or ten different colored bathing suits. I'm perfectly fine with my closet of graphic t-shirts, jeans, and cardigans, thank you very much.

But when I step on the scale at the doctor's office and it tells me I've put on 19 pounds in a shorter amount of time than it took for me to finish Insurgent (in my defense, that series is truly horrible), I know something has to change. It can't be healthy to gain almost one-seventh of my boyfriend in three months. Side note: This is how I've been gauging weight since fall of 2012.

I know I'm not going to lose 100 pounds, but I can certainly lose 20, right? So, I've made it my goal to go from whale-sized Brittany to the familiar porpoise-sized Brittany that I've come to know, love, and accept. How do I plan to accomplish this? Lots and lots of time on the treadmill.

That is a human being. The same species as me!

So, in honor of the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show last night (low self-esteem for the win!), I will now share with you the thoughts that crossed my mind while on the treadmill last night:

- There is only one other person in here, so it's probably okay if I pick my wedgie.

- What should I eat for dinner tonight?

- Is he seriously running at 9.5 speed? Treadmills go that fast? Get out of here with that Usain Bolt stuff.

- Okay, I've burned off exactly one can of Dr. Pepper.

- Oh, no. Are belts of treadmills slippery? Because I just spilled at least a mouthful of water on this one.

- One more mile and then you can sit on the couch and watch Ellen.

- As Usain Bolt moves onto the weight lifting portion of his workout Please don't drop the weights on the rack so loudly. My heart is already strained enough as it is.

- No, but seriously, what's for dinner?

Sometimes is always okay.

Sometimes, the walk from the car to your house in the pouring rain isn't that bad. Slow down. Close your eyes. Breathe deeply. Listen to the pitter-patter. Smell the wet pavement. Suddenly, the frizziness of your hair seems secondary.

Sometimes, acting like a child is the best option. When every second of your life is consumed by obligations, to-do lists, stress, and worries, you forget how wonderful the simplicity of childhood was. I promise you - the hardest I laughed today was during a game of leap frog with my 23-year-old best friend.

Sometimes, simply not talking says much more than any combination of words ever could. As a teenager, I thought I could be more mature, more assertive, more 'grown-up' if I spoke my mind. Only now do I realize that silence speaks as loudly as words and, sometimes, the best way to make yourself heard is to say nothing at all.

Sometimes, watching the stars is the best self-medication. There is no better way to humble yourself or put things into perspective than realizing how big the universe is. As self-centered as we can be at times, it feels refreshing to know that we aren't alone, we aren't a mistake, and we are a part of something much bigger than ourselves.

Sometimes, he knows exactly what you need without you having to say it. The connection you share is more than physical, more than emotional - something organic, something cosmic. He reads your body like Braille and tells a beautiful story. Sometimes, you're grateful you don't need to speak because you aren't sure you'd be able to find the right words, anyway.

Sometimes, that boy that could read you like a book becomes a stranger. He used to know every intimate detail, your naive dreams, the secrets of your soul. Then, one day, you are driving past a place that reminds you of him or you hear a song that you shared and you realize that he's merely a memory - a translucent image of what you both used to be.

Sometimes, I have days where I remember him. I think about how I used to feel and used to dream. I feel so disappointed by mistakes and regrets. I find myself missing something. Not him - because he isn't who he used to be. Not then - because I've loved so many things and people since. I think it's me I miss - the me with him, the me who loved unconditionally, the me who felt confident, happy, vibrant, and destined for big things.

Sometimes, I find myself crying. I used to pretend it didn't matter. I used to pretend I didn't think about it, that I was okay, that that part of me was gone. I used to think that reflecting on the past would only cause me pain. Only now do I realize that remembering, and even crying, isn't just okay sometimes.

It's always okay.

Dance until the Prom Ends?

The whole notion of high school dances creeps me out.

Don't get me wrong - I had a great time at most of mine, particularly Prom junior year. I had a fun date, the limo ride was entertaining, and it was held in Paul Brown Stadium. So, I spent the whole time, dancing with friends, overlooking the beautiful Cincinnati skyline, and fantasizing that the Bengals would show up at any minute to steal me away.

Still, when I think about high school dances now (Proms and Homecomings), I realize how gross they are. They are essentially a powder keg of teenage angst and raging hormones, ready to explode (in more ways than one).

Here are the things you will see at every high school dance:

- 15-20 crying girls. It is inevitable. They cry because Johnny broke up with them at the dance. They cry because Samantha is wearing the same dress they are. They cry because Ryan is dancing with their mortal enemy. They cry because they weren't invited to Chelsea's house for pictures. They cry because they're teenage girls.

- Fake tans. For some reason, this is the one time of year where it is not only acceptable for teenagers to morph into Jersey Shore characters, it is encouraged. Fake tans, professionally-styled hair (often a Snooki-esque bump), and fake nails. Way to go, America.

- Incredibly uncomfortable teacher chaperones. They stand along the wall at pre-determined intervals, waving awkwardly at students and faking smiles. They sip water, desperately wishing that it was whiskey. They scold themselves for sacrificing one of their precious weekend nights. They pretend not to notice their star student grinding it out on Jason's crotch.

- Water bottles filled with vodka. Smuggled in by students who feel rebellious, cool, and...drunk. I know that alcohol isn't necessary for dancing (I walk it out and Chinese typewriter with the best of them - 100% sober), but it does make it more interesting to watch.

- 2-3 accidental boners. Let's be honest. For some 17- or 18-year old boys, "Tonight (I'm Loving You)" by Enrique Iglesias is the closest they will come to getting any actual loving on Prom night. Grind away, kids. Get it out of your system.

- An awkward DJ that you wouldn't allow around your children if they weren't at a dance. In his late 30s, uses as much hair gel as the high school boys, throws glow sticks out during "Sandstorm." Unfortunately, these guys ogle teenage girls so shamelessly that it gives me a run for my money when I lick proposition Jordan Staal through the television...and I often sit on the TV screen.

- An empty Axe bottle. High school boys abuse cologne. I'm not sure if they think the commercial will actually come true and girls will start eating them like a chocolate bar or if they are trying to distract girls from the acne on their forehead. Either way, it's over-kill.

- That smell. I know this isn't something you can see, but you know exactly what I'm talking about. Sweat. Cologne. Armpits. Maybe one kid threw up. Later, when these students are in college, they will find that one seedy bar with the same familiar scent. Immediately, they will think, "Fall Homecoming 2004" and they will promptly exit said bar.

See what I mean? I wouldn't have traded my high school dance experiences for anything. For the most part, I had a great time with my best friends, took plenty of humiliating pictures, and have some good stories. I can say, however, that I wouldn't want to re-live them.

An ounce of realism in movies.

There is absolutely no denying that I'm a movie buff. I love everything about them. In my opinion, there is no better way to escape from reality for a couple hours.

That being said, I often find myself pondering the unrealistic nature of some movie endings. You know - that moment when everything miraculously comes together for the perfectly forced 'happily ever after' moment. I've always wanted to write a completely realistic screenplay - one that people could relate to because...well, it'd be real. However, on second thought, I realized that no one would like that movie.

People watch movies for a number of reasons, but one of the main reasons is because most movies have a perfect ending. She finds prince charming. He saves the president's life. The underdog football team wins the big game. I'll admit it - I'm a sucker for a happy ending. Sometimes, however, these endings frustrate me.

So, I thought I would write some more realistic endings for movies that ended a little too perfectly. Enjoy.

The Sandlot - When Scotty Smalls and Benny 'the Jet' Rodriguez help "The Beast" escape from under the enormous fence that has fallen on him, the rabid dog doesn't have a change of heart. Instead, he darts out from under the fence and bites Benny on his throwing arm, a wound that requires 24 stitches and a rabies shot. Of course, Benny's parents threaten to sue old Mr. Mertle and, as a result, "The Beast" is euthanized. Angry about his injury, Benny bans Smalls from the sandlot for the rest of eternity, condemning him to a socially awkward life filled with nothing but homework and erector sets.

Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory - After Wonka throws his fit about Charlie and Grandpa Joe stealing a sip of the Fizzy Lifting Drink, he kicks them out of the factory. Terrified by what he has seen, Charlie leaves without returning the everlasting gobstopper. Grandpa Joe immediately goes to the authorities, where he details the ugly truth about William Wonka - he is responsible for the untimely death of four children. He is also found guilty of breaking a number of employment laws - he has forced slave labor from an entire race of people and the work environment in the candy factory falls far short of federal safety regulations. Shortly thereafter, Wonka is apprehended and sentenced to life in prison.

Titanic - After finding the floating wall panel that can only sustain one person's weight, Jack and Rose decide unselfishly to take turns lying on it. Unfortunately, this effort is futile: both suffer from severe hypothermia and die. (Either way, the necklace ends up on the seafloor)

Grease - After Sandy drastically changes her appearance and squeezes her way into the iconic black outfit, Danny decides that he wants someone else. Sandy was fun for the summer, but with graduation approaching, he knows a relationship is pointless...especially with someone who is pretending to be someone else in a desperate attempt to please him. Sandy is left at the fair, crying and clearly in the middle of an identity crisis. Rizzo admits to Kenickie that she is, in fact, pregnant. He promptly leaves her to raise the child on her own in a small town of judging eyes. (At least this avoids the cheesy flying car scene)

Never Been Kissed - After waiting until the clock expires for Sam to show up and sweep her off her feet, Josie stands on the baseball field, dejected and humiliated in front of the entire town. Depressed and alone, Josie swears men off altogether and becomes an alcoholic. After submitting multiple cynical, anti-male articles laced with expletives and death threats, she is fired from her job at the Chicago Sun-Times and hired at a local bar. During her tenure there, she creates a popular new cocktail that consists of Jose Cuervo, melted butter, and chili powder - a drink she calls the "Josie Grossie."

2012 - The world actually does end. No survivors. Not even John Cusack.

The Lion King - After Scar convinces Simba that he is responsible for the death of his father, Simba runs away in shame. He escapes the hyenas that Scar sends to kill him and collapses in the desert, starving and exhausted. Upon waking up, Simba runs across a meerkat and a particularly juicy-looking warthog. Although the duo seem to be singing a happy song, Simba is overtaken by his immense hunger and eats both animals. Meanwhile, Rafiki calls Scar a dick, summons the ghost of Mufasa to haunt the new tyrant, and leaves Pride Rock in search of other baby lions to dangle dangerously over the edge of a cliff.

How very Michael Jackson of Rafiki.

See what I mean? I can't imagine any of these would do very well in the box office.

Way to go, Zuckerberg.

Like the rest of the world, I am obsessed with Facebook. Although my love affair with the social networking site has declined in recent years (mostly due to my interest in Twitter and my blog), I still check it multiple times a day.

Over the years, I have come to realize that there are different types of status updaters on Facebook. Here they are:

The 'Too Much Information' Poster - This friend tells the world extremely personal details about their life. Ex. "Feel like killing everyone because it's that time of the month." or "My mom is really pissing me off. She just called me a bitch in front of my friends!"

The Cryptic - This friend wants you to ask them what's going on with them, so they leave a series of vague statuses to make you curious. Often, they end statuses with ellipses. Ex. "Why is this happening to me?" or "I have never felt this way before..."

The Revoltingly in Love Updater - This friend cannot write a status without including something gooey about their significant other. Ex. "Counting down the minutes until I get to see my baby girl." or "The best 2 week, 4 days, and 11 hours of my life. Love my boy!"

The Shameless Self-Promoter - This friend uses their Facebook as a way to gain personal attention or raise awareness for something they care about. Ex. "Check out my blog." or "Attend my event!" Clearly, I'm guilty of this one.

The Anchorman - This friend uses their Facebook status to inform the world of news that they might not know otherwise. Of course, everyone usually knows what they post already. Ex. "The Packers win!!" or "I can't believe there is a cobra missing from the Bronx zoo!"

The Incessant Updater - This friend updates their status every thirty minutes. Ex. "Watching Ocean's 13." followed by "Brad Pitt and George Clooney are so hot." followed by "I can't believe the end of this movie." followed by "Highly recommend Ocean's 13 to everyone."

The Cynic - This friend uses their status as a soapbox to complain about everything. Ex. "People that talk shit behind my back really piss me off." or "Why can't people get their own life and stay out of mine?"

The Sympathy Seeker - This friend is desperately looking for comfort and uses Facebook induce pity from others. Ex. "Worst day ever." or "Huge test tomorrow. Gonna be an all-nighter." Again, guilty.

The Meteorologist - This friend forgets that nearly everyone else on their friend list is experiencing the same weather they are. Ex. "It's so warm! Is this actually March?!" or "IT'S SNOWING!!!"

The Braggart - This friend wants others to envy them, so they post positive details about their own life in an attempt to make others jealous. Ex. "Last night was CRAZY!"

The Novelist - This friend writes a full paragraph for every status update. Unfortunately, they are usually pointless or boring paragraphs. Ex. "Today, I went to the grocery store to pick up some dinner. I really wanted spaghetti, but I realized that no Italian dinner is complete without garlic bread. I went over to the bakery for some fresh garlic bread, but the workers told me they were completely out! So, I went with tacos instead."

There you have it. We are all guilty of these from time to time, but these are the over-arching trends in Facebook status updates that I've noticed over the years.

...and trust me, I've spent my fair share of time on Facebook.

Brittany After Lockout

Those who know me well know that the #1 love of my life is football. I've been avoiding the topic of the NFL lockout because...well, it depresses me. The thought of not having a football season next year blows my mind. Friday, when I learned that the owners and the NFLPA couldn't come to an agreement, I wasn't happy. In fact, I felt a little numb.

So, without any further ado, I bring you:

Brittany After Lockout

Notice the shirt. I'm pathetic...and have too much time on my hands, obviously.

Perspective.

No one's life is perfect. Mine isn't. Yours isn't. Contrary to popular belief, Posh Spice's isn't. As a result, I complain a lot. However, a good portion of my journal is dedicated to realizing and reminding myself how lucky I am.

This is necessary...because if you know me, you know that I'm both self-pitying and overly dramatic. With that dangerous combination, even the smallest inconvenience in my life quickly becomes the scene in Dante's Peak where Grandma Ruth, out of the goodness of her heart, jumps out of the boat into the sulphuric acid lake in order to push the boat to shore and save her family...in turn, losing her legs and her life. Except I'm Grandma Ruth, the acidic lake is life's many challenges, and I'm nowhere near brave enough to do something that cool.

Sometimes, I am convinced that my life is actually an elaborate TV show like The Truman Show. Producers come up with funny twists, little complications, and bad luck moments to entertain the viewers. Last week, someone crashed into my car. Later that night, my car got stuck in the mud at Jenn's house and had to be towed out. Yesterday, while working out, the treadmill suddenly turned off - literally came to an instant stop. I took that as yet another sign from the cosmos that my life is a joke. That some higher power was laughing at the chubby girl's attempt to get fit. See what I mean? Self-pitying. Overly dramatic.

However, with the bad comes the good. I am also blessed with the ability to see the bigger picture. The horrifying earthquake and tsunami in Japan serve as a reminder how lucky I am. So, in those moments when I feel like Milton from Office Space, I remind myself that it's all about perspective. No one's life is perfect, but in complete honesty, mine is pretty damn close. Here's how I know:

Identity crisis > Nuclear crisis

Paying $3.59/gallon > Risking (or losing) my life to fight against a brutal dictator

My brother in boot camp in South Carolina > My brother fighting in Afghanistan

Unemployed > Homeless

Getting my car stuck in the mud > My car being swept away by water

My heart goes out to all those affected by the tsunami in Japan, the government in Libya, and everywhere else in the world where people are suffering. Because when you get down to it, I'm not suffering. I'm selfish...and if anyone's red stapler is missing, it's certainly not mine.

2009 Ford Collision.

Last night, I was involved in my first car crash. I suppose I was a bit naive about wrecks before this. I always thought - I'm a good driver. It's not going to happen to me. Quickly, I learned that you cannot discount the poor driving skills of others.

Here's how it went down:

I was stopped at a red light on our way home from Golden Corral, talking to Jenn and listening to The Temper Trap. The light turned green. I put my foot on the gas. About midway through the intersection, I noticed a car to my right that showed absolutely no signs of stopping. I actually had time to say, "Uhh...is this guy going to stop?!" I honked my horn. Luckily, I slammed on my gas or else he would have t-boned us on Jenn's side.

He clipped the back passenger side of my car. I pulled over on the entrance ramp. He stopped in a parking lot, about thirty yards away. After two minutes of deep breathing, hazard lights, and a couple angry punches to my thigh, I stepped out into the rain. The perpetrator, a bespectacled middle-aged man, was jogging through a swampy field toward me.

After asking if we were okay, he said, "Did I have a red light?" My basic reaction:

My actual reaction: "Yes. Yes, you did." On busy Field's Ertel Road. At 8:30 PM.

He said, "I've never been in a wreck before. I guess there's a first time for everything." Hmm...yeah. Except for my raunchy evenings with any number of professional hockey players.

After exchanging insurance information, we shook hands and he apologized profusely. At least everyone was okay.

But, seriously - Was this God punishing me for eating at Golden Corral? I feel somewhat guilty every time I leave there. I know it's not good to eat three gluttonous plates of food followed by two different desserts, but when you pay $13 for a buffet, wouldn't you feel obligated to get your fill?

Sexless in the Suburbs.

My life goals come in three different categories: 1. Those that will probably happen. 2. Those that have an equal likelihood of happening or not happening. 3. Those that are absurdly impossible and I obsessively dream about.

Here are some examples.

Goals in Group #1 - Get a steady job that I enjoy. Move into my own apartment or house. Get a smart phone.

Goals in Group #2 - Get married. Have children. Travel to Greece.

Goals in Group #3 - Provide the voice for a Disney character. Start my own sports' network for which I am an extremely biased commentator that makes as many provocative remarks about the athletes as interesting, valid statements. Own a fountain soda machine.

You get the picture. Looking at my life right now, I am baffled. I don't know what I was thinking as a high school senior. In the back of my mind, I thought that after I graduated from college, I would be doing something fabulous. I would be simultaneously changing the world, working a job that I love, living in a big city, dating gorgeous and successful men, and existing on little to no sleep. You know - Sex and the City...without the designer clothes, cocktails, and Miranda.

Instead, I am living Sexless in the Suburbs. Wasting away on the couch, watching every new episode of Piers Morgan Tonight, playing Bejeweled and self-diagnosing on WebMD, unemployed, sleeping during the few hours of sunlight, and only coming into contact with four guys on a regular basis: Dad, Josh, the lovely gentleman who works at the bank, and our dog Prince.

Wow. What happened to my drive? Didn't I get voted 'Most Likely to Succeed' by my graduating class? Didn't I feel ready to take on the world? Where did my ambition go? Did I eat it? Because that would explain my unprecedented weight gain.

At any rate, I need a swift kick in the pants. Instead of working toward the plausible goals in group #1, I find myself creating more unrealistic goals for group #3. Counter-productive.

But, seriously, I came up with a great one: Marry a Staal brother.

From left to right in the last picture: Eric (Carolina Hurricanes), Jared (AHL/ECHL player), Jordan (Pittsburgh Penguins), and Marc (New York Rangers)

The glorious royal family of NHL hockey. Born between 1984 and 1990, these four brothers were born and raised on a sod farm in Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada. They are all 6'4" and weigh over 200 pounds. They work hard, are super competitive, and have no problem laying a serious hit on each other. Two of them have already won the Stanley Cup. They are the perfect mix of Aryan goodness and the ginger Prince-Harry vibe...and in the words of Santana from Glee, I wants one and I wants one now.

Eric is married and Marc is engaged, so that narrows it down a bit. Obviously, I want Jordan. He's a Penguin and he's beautiful.

But, I would settle for Jared. No doubt about it. I just want to be there for Christmas morning, so I can watch them look in their stockings before playing a pick-up game on the backyard rink. I'm allowed to openly drool over all of them. Sharing is caring, right?

See what I mean? Counter-productive. You are welcome to shatter my dreams and bring me back to reality.

...on second thought, I think I'll just go to Miami for Green Beer Day.

Lies I was told as a child.

Tonight, I realized how many lies I was told as a child.

I won't even start with Santa, the Easter Bunny, or the Tooth Fairy. Seriously, from birth until my high school graduation, I was fed a series of deliberate lies.

Here are some of my favorites:

"No, Brittany. It's okay. This is No More Tears shampoo." - I'm calling bullshit. Cried every time.

"You will find practical uses for calculus in your everyday life." - Umm...I can't even find practical uses for multiplying and dividing fractions. I don't really care about the rate at which the milkshake travels through the straw. I just want it in my mouth. Now.

"Christopher Columbus was a cool guy." - Although not a direct quote, you get the gist. Every elementary school in the country celebrates Columbus day with glorious stories, activities, and songs of his heroism. Then, suddenly, in high school, you learn the truth. I guess this lie is somewhat justified. Can you imagine the screams of horror from the 2nd graders who just learned about smallpox-infested blankets, slavery, and crimes against humanity?

"Hockey is boring." - Riiight. Thanks, Dad.

"No, seriously. I really like you." *frantically stuffs hands up my shirt* - Why does every insecure freshman girl fall for this?

"Everything happens for a reason." - Not true. I don't buy it. Horrible things happen to amazing people and life isn't always fair. I do, however, believe you can learn something from everything. You can always find a silver lining, but that doesn't mean it happened for a reason.

"I did not have sexual relations with that woman." - The most famous lie told since my birth.

"You will remember these spelling words forever because these are your 'forever' words." - Clearly these aren't 'forever words.' I see more people my age misspelling 'there,' 'their,' and 'they're' than 5th graders.

"Who dey think gonna beat dem Bengals?" - This question implies that very few can beat the Cincinnati Bengals. It is meant to sound like, "How DARE anyone challenge the Bengals?" Of course, after a few years of fanhood, the answer becomes painfully clear: just about anyone, including some highly-ranked collegiate programs.

"Someday my prince will come..." - Snow White sings this song and one poisonous apple and 20 minutes of screen time later, there he is. The prince just shows up without her doing anything. In fact, all she does is sleep. Uhh...hello? I'm the best sleeper I know and Vince Vaughn is yet to show up and kiss me out of my slumber. Thanks a lot, Disney. You should be charged with aiding and abetting in the formulation of my unrealistic expectations for guys.

"Brittany, you need to do your laundry." - HA! College proved one thing to me: Your laundry can wait two more weeks after the initial realization that you need to do your laundry.

"There are plenty of fish in the sea." - I suppose this is true, but you happened to leave out that 50% of the fish are girls, some are gay, some are shallow, some are stupid, some are rude, some are boring, some are immature, and quite frankly, most aren't right for you. So, good luck.

Don't worry. I'm not harboring any resentment.

Waking up in a new way.

Tonight, I had one of those amazing, eye-opening moments. One of those moments where you feel beyond guilty because you realize, yet again, that you take so many things for granted.

I complained about the Penguins losing to the Capitals. I complained about being single. I complained about not having a job. I complained about missing my brother. I complained about dirty laundry. Then, I started my nightly computer routine: Check Facebook, e-mails, nhl.com, twitter, CNN.

As I read about Libya and Bahrain, my heart broke. I watched absolutely horrifying videos broadcast by the BBC and Al Jazeera. These videos showed peaceful protesters in the streets of Tripoli (Libya's capital) being shot indiscriminately by mercenaries, hired by the country's oppressive dictator of 40+ years, Muammar Gadhafi. They showed civilians being shot by Gadhafi's snipers, family members screaming and crying, doctors and nurses being beaten. The government is using anti-aircraft weapons and high caliber rounds against civilian protesters. These are weapons designed to tear through walls and take out tanks...and they are being used on peaceful protesters.

I cannot comprehend this. This is the 21st century, right? The incredible movement for democracy in the middle East has inspired and intrigued me from the start. I followed the events in Egypt, Tunisia, and Yemen closely. Of course, there were horrible injuries and deaths in those movements, too. I'm not trying to downplay the courageous actions taken by Egyptians and Tunisians. Still, Libya is something different.

The government, unlike Hosni Mubarak in Egypt, is refusing to step down. It is threatening its citizens with civil war, promising bloodshed, hiring mercenaries, carrying out a genocide, and not even pretending to listen to the demands of the people. It remains defiant, shut down the country's internet and phone services, and has used its military forces indiscriminately against men, women, and children. Already, hundreds have died.

We don't have to worry about genocide. We don't fear our government or our military. We don't have to fight for democracy and we often take for granted those that did it for us.

This puts everything in perspective for me. We live in a country where democracy, peace, freedom of assembly, and freedom of speech are not only expected, but taken for granted. We bitch and moan over party differences. We complain about taxes, traffic, and security checks at the airport. MSN's homepage is more concerned with Justin Bieber's haircut. We focus on celebrities, sports, movies, and music. I'm more than guilty myself.

What's even more troubling to me is that most Americans aren't even aware of what is going on in the middle East. We, of all people, should be most enthusiastic about the contagious nature of the democratic movement. We are the shining stars of democracy, the perfect picture of the democratic way of life. In fact, we like democracy so much that we even invaded a country to impose it on them...against the will of its people. We should stand adamently behind the people of Libya - proud, informed, and supportive. We should show our disgust with authoritarian regimes and refuse to deal with or tolerate oppressive dictators.

Unfortunately, many that are informed on the situation in the middle East have more selfish concerns. Many fear that the revolutions will put anti-American Islamic groups in power, damaging our strongholds in the area. Selfishly, they worry more about rising gas prices than the innocent lives being lost.

Tonight, as I closed my eyes due to the horrific violence on my computer screen, my eyes were also opened in a new way. It reaffirms to me that I have a relatively easy life. I won the lottery of birth and have very little to actually complain about. So, I refuse to take what I have for granted. I am thankful for our democracy, our freedom of speech and assembly. Call me an idealist, a bleeding heart, but I strongly believe in the voice of the people, protesting for something long overdue.

The people of the middle East are speaking and they are right.

If all I can do is raise awareness in my tiny corner of the universe, then so be it...but I will do that until the violence stops. I am grateful every single day to live in a country where a 23-year-old girl can write openly in her blog about celebrity crushes or the state of the world.

Tonight, I wish that for everyone standing courageously in the face of injustice.

Don't worry, St. Valentine. I'm feeling nice.

Well, it's nearly Valentine's Day again.

Eight years ago, I helped co-found a Single Girls' Valentine's Dinner with some friends. It was meant to take our minds off of being single, spend time with great friends, eat entirely too much, and flirt shamelessly with even remotely attractive waiters. Eight years later, I haven't missed a single one. Awesome. I admit - I probably shouldn't have attended one of them. However, as a co-founder, I found ways to dodge the rules and went anyway (plus, we weren't officially together and never actually were).

Don't worry. This post isn't going to be an all-out assault on Valentine's Day. I'm not one of those 'stupid holiday, sell cards and flowers, hate my life' girls. Hating Valentine's Day because you're single is like hating Ryan Seacrest for upsetting results on American Idol. It's not his fault. You're looking for a scapegoat. Still not happy with the outcome.

At any rate, I've been contemplating my single-ness for...eight years...and I've decided that being single for eight years is actually a lot like eating from the same gallon of cookie dough ice cream for eight years. Let me explain.

At first, you're content - happy even. The vanilla of your life is filled with chunks of gooey-deliciousness and you're completely happy with those chunks of excitement. You experiment with different things - in a cone, in a bowl, whipped cream, hot fudge, that Reese's hardshell stuff, sprinkles. You love the freedom you have to experiment with different toppings. No one can tell you you can't.

Then, as time goes on, you start to get a little sick of the cookie dough ice cream. You want something bigger, better. Something more serious. You're ready for new things, bigger commitments. In order to forget your ice cream (or in this extended metaphor, your status as a single girl), you try to cram your gallon of ice cream into the deepest, darkest, furthest corner of your mind *cough* freezer. Unfortunately, freezers are small and gallons of ice cream continue to dominate your sub-conscious.

You go to the frozen foods section of your local grocery. You flirt with the idea of having something serious, something for dinner. A bag of tator tots, a frozen pineapple and ham pizza (in this metaphor, these represent another facet of your life - a focus on a career, family, friends). However, you always go back to the nagging feeling you have in your gut. Nothing else will fit in the freezer. The ice cream takes up way too much space. So, you continue to dwell on it.

Unfortunately, in this metaphor, you can't even throw the ice cream away. It's not your choice. You want a new flavor, but none of the flavors seem to agree with your stomach. So, you're stuck - sobbing on the couch, eating the ice cream directly out of the carton. You begin to realize that ice cream is too cold. You want something warm, something adventurous, something - dare I say, sensual in your life. Sometimes, you share the ice cream with your other single friends. Then, suddenly, they've moved on to cake - wedding cake, to be exact. But, you're alone...eating your ice cream and blogging about celebrities.

Eventually, the ice cream has been in the freezer for so long that it begins to grow mold. This, of course, is in direct proportion with the amount of hair on the single girl's legs. What's the point, right? Why shave in February if you're single? In fact, science has given us an equation to explain this phenomenon:

(¼)# of years single = # of inches of leg hair

...and there you have it. So, I've been eating from the same metaphorical gallon of cookie dough ice cream for eight years...and it hasn't tasted good in a long time.

Everyone I know tells me there is a perfect guy out there for me. They tell me to keep waiting. They tell me I deserve the best and that it will work out in the end. I believed them for a long time, but my patience is starting to wear thin. I'm tired of being alone...and at this point, if my perfect man does finally show up, I hope he's lactose intolerant.

By the way, my leg hair isn't two inches long. Don't worry.

Oh woe is me?

As you know, it's February. So, I wasn't shocked when I saw the new Valentine's Day commercial from Hallmark. Check it out.

I can't help it. I'm incredibly jealous. In my defense, I'm not overly mopey throughout the entire month of February. I'm actually quite mopey year-round. Ha!

I suppose "mopey" isn't the right word. I realized long ago that I don't need a boyfriend. I don't need a guy to make me feel confident and I don't need one to feel happy or loved. I just want one. There is nothing I want more than to find true love.

It took me a long time to get over my last 'love.' Since him, I've had a crush on a few guys, but I came to a strange realization last night: I haven't had a crush on a real guy (and by real, I mean a non-celebrity) in over a year. Wow. To be fair, I don't crush very easily and it's pretty slim pickings back at home.

At any rate, I feel ready for love. I would love to find a guy who brings out the best in me, pushes me to be a better person, makes me laugh, and shows me that this wait has been worth it.

I suppose the commercial got to me because I'd love to receive a Valentine's Day card from my boyfriend in the middle of a hockey game. Of course, I'd prefer the card to come from someone on the ice.

...and if we're being incredibly picky here, I'd like for him to look like this:

That, by the way, is Jonathan Toews. Don't worry. You'll man meat him later.

LP-isms.

I miss my brother today.

Don't get me wrong. I've missed him every single day since he left, but it's been one of those days - those days where it just hits you like a brick wall. This was the first day that I've really felt his absence.

Tonight, I realized a number of things he would have done had he been here. He would have:

- Made fun of me for crying during American Idol.
- Begged me not to monopolize the TV with the Penguins/Islanders game.
- Called Crosby a few choice words for still being out with his concussion.
- Farted on me and ran away.
- Eaten 25% of the brownies my mom made.
- Squeezed my arm fat (his favorite thing to do).
- Discussed the upcoming Superbowl with me in great detail.
- Confidently predicted a Packers' win.
- Accused me of loving the Steelers (vomit) because I like the Penguins.
- Hugged me roughly 15 times.

...getting closer to April 22nd all the time. So proud of my buddy.

Sidenote: That picture is horrible and five years old. I apologize for subjecting you to it, but it had to be done. It is being used only to demonstrate my long-standing Packers' solidarity with my broski. Can't wait to hear the band-wagoners after their Superbowl win Sunday. Think happy thoughts.

Other sidenote: We had some serious balls that night. We were at a Bengals' home pre-season game. Hecklers had a field day with us, but that's alright...

In the hockey game that is life...

Tolerance.

Lately, I just don't have it...and it's not a good look for me. I feel like Mark Zuckerberg in The Social Network. Seriously, that's me when I'm "fighting" with someone. I bust out my big-girl vocabulary and try to insult/out-wit the person in the most intelligent way possible. The only difference? I'm not a genius...and I don't talk nearly that fast.

But, back to my point: I need to work on my tolerance level. I don't know what it is with me lately. Maybe it's Sid and Geno's extended absences from games. Maybe it's the horrific snow and ice storms we've been having. Maybe it's the fact that I can't see my bedroom floor because of all of the clothes. Maybe I miss my brother. Maybe I'm already mourning the end of football season. Maybe I miss college and my friends. Maybe it's because I'm officially nocturnal and I experience sunlight as often as a Cullen. Maybe I'm sick of feeling sick. Maybe it's because my Dad got home from Italy on Monday and is leaving for the Dominican Republic today (jealousy). Maybe I want desperately to find a job and have no idea where to look. Maybe it's all of these things...but really, I need to get a grip.

Tonight, when I saw what Jordan Staal did to Brandon Prust, I heaved a huge sigh of relief. THAT is exactly what I want to do to life right now. I'm tired of life, elbowing me in the face, and I'm tempted to throw a dirty punch.



...but then, I realized that not only did Staalsy get a five-minute major penalty, he got a match penalty. That's right. The referees deemed him to be 'too dangerous' to continue in the game and he was thrown out for its remainder...and tomorrow's game, too.

So, in this extended metaphor, I'm Jordan. All of my complaints are Prust. Fittingly, life is the hockey game. Sure, Prust is being a bitch - tossing an elbow up haphazardly, making Jordan's task a bit complicated. Sure, it feels satisfying to retaliate in dramatic fashion and see Prust writhe around on the ground like a snail under a salt shaker. However, what I need to remember is that I could easily get kicked out of the game at any moment...whether it be by match penalty or injury. In the end, is it worth all the frustration...and the harsh retaliation? No.

I need to bite my tongue. I need to take a few deep breaths. I need to write it out. I need to leave Lebanon for a hot minute. But, most of all, I need to QUIT complaining.

...and I most definitely shouldn't be throwing any left hooks.

*I apologize for the poor analogy. I realize it's a stretch, but what I really wanted to do was provide some perspective on life's complications while showing you how much of a man Jordan Staal is.*

Lessons learned.

I apologize for my recent lack of blog enthusiasm. I suppose this is just a manifestation of my overall life enthusiasm lately. I feel so blah. I'm still getting over my massive cold. I'm tired and weak. I have a horribly sore lower back (for some reason). My brother leaves on Sunday (for real this time). I'm still bummed about my lack of success in the job hunt. The freezing weather and snow continues tomorrow. I have a severe case of cabin fever, but no energy to leave the house. I want desperately to move out.

I don't know. I'm usually not one to complain in a public forum, but I'm in such a funk and I can't seem to shake it.

So, it's time to glean some positivity from this recent madness. In the last week, I've learned a number of things. For instance, I learned that as much as I like to fantasize about hosting Man vs. Food, it does have serious repercussions on your body (I've probably watched every episode ever made in the last week...and closely documented Adam Richman's slow weight gain). I learned that sometimes it is best to just stay asleep. I learned that the song that I'd least like to hear during a pap smear is "Beer for my Horses" by Toby Keith and Willie Nelson. I learned that there is no better way to kill time from 6:00-10:00 AM than watching Mike and Mike in the Morning.

So, as you can see, it's been an eventful few days. Ugh.

It's like a 'Pick Your Own Adventure' book...only it's my life!

I feel like I'm taking crazy pills.

Lately, my joblessness has combined with the depressing weather and my bizarre sleeping schedule to create a trifecta of blubbery winter sadness.

I won't venture to say that I'm experiencing a bout of Seasonal Affective Disorder, but seriously...I'm in a funk. A non-Christmas funk.

I'm struggling to figure out what I want to do with my life. There is one thing, however, that I do know: it's not this.

So, if you don't mind, I will think out loud:

My ideal jobs: Professional blogger. Movie critic. Traveling journalist. Sport blogger (for a specific team). Football commentator. The voice for a new Disney princess. Personal masseuse for Sidney Crosby, Brian Urlacher, Evgeni Malkin, Tim Tebow, etc.

Okay. So. We can immediately eliminate the last two options. Bummer.

All of this seems highly unrealistic. Not that I can't do it. I can. I have enough confidence in my writing ability and my understanding of movies, travel, and sports. I honestly believe I write things worth reading.

Here's the rub. I have absolutely no connections. I live in rural southwestern Ohio. I could write for our local newspaper (maybe), but that's not a living...and it's not what I want.

So, to channel my inner Lebron James, what should I do? Should I go to law school (even though I have little to no interest in it) and make the money necessary for travel and Bengals' season tickets? What should I do? Should I go to graduate school - and if so, what should I go for? Should I move and try somewhere new? Should I get another job (one I don't want) and write on the side? What should I do? Should I give up on my unrealistic dreams and settle for some financial stability?

I know the answer to the last question is no. I know all the cliche phrases - Dream Big. Happiness is more important than money. No dreamer is ever too small; no dream is ever too big. Got it. But, you know what is too big? The list of names who want the same amazing jobs that I do.

I wish I had an 'in' with the Bengals or the Penguins franchises. I wish I had a connection with a major newspaper, a magazine, a popular travel or movie website. Unfortunately, wishing these things won't change my situation. So, I'm stuck thinking.

I know I can do it. I just don't know where to start.

Hey Victoria! There is nothing secret about that.

As you probably know, the highly-anticipated, annual Victoria's Secret fashion show aired on Tuesday. Unlike in previous years, I decided to tune the show out this time...mostly due to my nearly debilitating self-confidence issues. Trust me - Alessandra Ambrosio is not good for my self-esteem.

At any rate, I've decided that the Victoria's Secret fashion show leaves every single woman in America feeling one (or a combination) of three different ways: excited, jealous, or fat. Let me explain.

- Excited. 1. Some women absolutely love the show. They can't wait to see the lingerie, the glitter, the wings, the feminine sassiness, the shoes, the pizazz, and their favorite Angels. The girliness in everyone (myself included) loves this. 2. They can't wait to see the performer(s). With last year's Fergie and this year's Katy Perry, I'm sure this draws some female excitement, too. 3. Lesbians may be excited for other reasons.

- Jealous. 1. Some women may be jealous of the outfits. This thought, of course, never crosses my mind for a multitude of reasons...but I'm sure some girls must yearn for their clothes. 2. Some women may be jealous that their boyfriend, spouse, or male friend is sitting next to them with their jaw on the floor, making vulgar comments or endless sexual innuendos. (Of course, I allow this with no hint of jealousy...or else I would look like an utter hypocrite during Monday Night Football every week) 3. MOST women, however, are jealous of their incomprehensible bodies...which brings me to my next point.

- Fat. Although I have read that only around 100 women in the world look as fit as these models, every single girl I know feels like a beached whale when watching this show. This, however, can manifest itself in one of two different ways. 1. It may give a girl the motivation necessary to work harder at the gym, eat healthier, and aspire to look like Adriana Lima. 2. Conversely, it may cause another girl to sob quietly to herself in the fetal position, while wearing over-sized sweatpants and shoveling Oreo after Oreo down her throat. I'll let you guess which group I most closely identify with.

Thusly, I decided to ignore the fashion show this year.

Instead, I chose to exist in a fantasy land where Sidney Crosby has a fetish for chubby librarian-types...that have a penchant for trivia contests and blogging.

...and speaking of Sid, he had his 7th career hat trick tonight in a win over the Atlanta Thrashers. It was his first natural hat trick and I get to see him on Saturday in Columbus. Here is what the NHL.com stats page currently looks like:

Remember when everyone thought he had achieved everything possible when he became the youngest captain to ever win the Stanley Cup, won the Hart Memorial Trophy (NHL MVP), the Lester B. Pearson Award (peer-voted best player), the Art Ross Trophy (leading scorer), tied for the Rocket Richard Trophy (goals leader), and won a gold medal for his country by scoring the game-winning goal in overtime? Well, he's currently on track to have the best season yet of his remarkable career.

...and I, of course, am currently on track to find him.

Note to self on bad days.

I have such an amazing life.

Never forget it, Brittany.

These are a few of my favorite things.

One day, I will finish the 30 day blog challenge. Today is not that day.

First and foremost, my Bengals. This week, the Bengals battled our bitter rivals, the Pittsburgh Steelers, in the coveted Monday night spot. As could be expected, almost the entire nation predicted nothing but doom and gloom for the Bengals (who have previously made largely embarrassing appearances in nationally-televised games). In fact, all but one of the seven commentators predicted a Steelers' victory. Even worse, our beloved ex-running back Rudi Johnson predicted a 44-0 loss. Ouch.

I must say - although the game ended in defeat (27-21), I am very proud of my team. NO ONE expected them to give the Steelers, a Superbowl favorite, a run for their money. Despite a few mistakes, the Bengals played very well, creating an exciting comeback in the final quarter. T.O. had a tremendous game, Cedric fought hard, and the defense held the Steelers quite well (considering 10 points came mostly from turnovers). I am excited to say that the Bengals lost admirably and that the rest of the country finally saw what our team is capable of. With losses like that, I don't care what the record is. I'll continue to proudly proclaim, "WHO-DEY?!"

...and another favorite thing...

Today, the Penguins took part in the annual Project Bundle Up, a partnership between the Salvation Army and Dick's to provide winter clothing for children from less privileged families. The Penguins help the kids shop, try on, and pick out the perfect clothes. Here is what Geno had to say about his time spent with 10-year-old Brendan: "It's great to help the kids and it warms my heart." Geno even bought the same hat Brendan wanted so that they could match. "Brendan said this is the new style. We buy together," Geno added.

Don't worry. It's not like I fantasized about Sid and Geno lovingly shopping with our future children...helping them try on new coats before taking them for ice cream...that would be weird...

...and finally...

OH. EM. GLEE.

Warning: This entry may contain spoilers. If you watch the show and didn't see tonight's episode yet, stop reading. Now.

Unlike my last Glee update, this entry will be filled with mostly positives.

+ The Kurt storyline is probably my favorite running plotline. Kurt is amazing and Chris Colfer is an incredible actor.

+ The return of Noah Puckerman. Thank you. Side note: His rendition of "One Love" was amazing.

+ Kurt's probable boyfriend (Blaine) is gorgeous. No surprise there. I have a tendency to fall for gay guys.

- Sue Sylvester's character wasn't very funny. She needs some more hilarious one-liners.

+ Finn Hudson. Duh.

- Why does Schue always make bad decisions? Telling Bieste the truth about the kids? Stupid. Kissing Bieste and leading her on? Idiotic. Trust me. Coming from a perpetually single girl, I know how it feels to be led on. She will be obsessing over that kiss for years to come.

- Great. Did I just compare myself to Bieste?

+ The Warblers' rendition of Katy Perry's "Teenage Dream." Can I listen to this on repeat for 6 days? Probably.

+ I loved the surprise kiss from Kurt's bully! Typical confused teenage boy. American Beauty moment brought to you by Ryan Murphy.

I absolutely love that this show tackles serious issues like homophobia. If I had to choose one issue I am the most passionate about, it would definitely be gay rights. Hands down. Homophobia is unfair - whether it manifests itself in malicious bullying or not. Every single person deserves the same treatment, regardless of skin color, gender, sexual orientation, etc. Gay slurs, even when used unintentionally, are offensive and do nothing but perpetuate existing prejudices. In fact, I think denying same-sex marriage is no different than prohibiting interracial marriage. Who is anyone to deny someone else love and happiness? Homophobes should not be able to use the Bible to mask their fear and intolerance. One day, people will look back at this time in disbelief and utter regret. I hope I live to see the day when homosexuality is widely accepted and everyone is free to marry the love of their life. It will come.

In the meantime, I'm just glad that shows like Glee are here to raise awareness and preach something that is worth preaching, acceptance and love.

Anyone who claims to be in the light but hates a brother or sister is still in the darkness. Anyone who loves their brother and sister lives in the light, and there is nothing in them to make them stumble. But anyone who hates a brother or sister is in the darkness and walks around in the darkness. They do not know where they are going, because the darkness has blinded them. - 1 John 2:9-11

Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. - 1 Peter 4:8