I've done it.

I love music.

In a way, that's a really stupid statement. Who doesn't love music? I have never come across anyone who doesn't like some kind of music.

Let's be real. Music makes us dance, makes us cry, makes us sing along, or makes us laugh. It improves our day, pumps us up for something, helps us relate, and gets us through work-outs. For some people, music enhances life. For others, music is life.

I love music. Really love it. As a child, I thought I'd be a world-famous singer. I got in trouble for singing all the time. I took piano lessons for a number of years. I played percussion in band. I took choir until college, then refused to try out for a group because I convinced myself I wouldn't make it. I still regret that.

However, the way I love music seems to differ from a lot of people. Most people love music for the lyrics. They analyze lyrics, relate to them, find them clever (especially in the case of rap music). Some people love songs because they believe the artist is describing exactly how they've felt at one point or another.

Don't get me wrong. I do, too. John Mayer has the uncanny ability to read my mind, then put my thoughts into infinitely more eloquent words than I ever could. However, the real reason I love music is the music itself.

When I hear a song for the first time, I don't even hear the words. I hear the layers. I hear the bass, the beat, the melody on top. I hear the harmonies and create my own. I love songs with complexity, catchy beats, melodies that build, and impressive instrumentals. I can sing along with a song, have all the words memorized, and still have no idea what I'm saying when I sing it. In fact, some of my favorite songs aren't even in English or don't have lyrics at all.

So, in my unlimited free time, I came up with what I think are my Top Ten Favorite Songs.

Before I share them with you, please keep the following things in mind:

- My list of favorite songs changes all the time.
- My list of favorite songs is VERY different from my list of current favorite songs. Perhaps I will share that sometime.
- A few of the songs on my list aren't complex at all. I still love them.
- I am positive that I missed a couple that should be on here. Oops.
- These are not in order.

1. "Imagine" by John Lennon - This is probably my favorite song ever written. Incredibly simple music with a hard-hitting, emotional message. John Lennon at his best.

2. "Crash" by Dave Matthews Band - For years, I hated myself for loving my favorite band's most popular song. I wanted to claim an obscure DMB song as my favorite in a pathetic attempt to seem like a "hardcore" fan. Then, I realized something. "Crash" is DMB's most popular song because it's phenomenal. The music, which starts out quiet, soft, and repetitive, is gorgeous and the song slowly, gently builds like a wave into a chill-inducing, tremendous finale. I lose myself to the music every single time I hear it.

3. "Wild Horses" by The Rolling Stones - This song makes me cry. Plain and simple. Completely contradicting myself, the lyrics really resonate with me and when you couple them with that music, I'm sobbing.

4. "Comfortably Numb" by Pink Floyd - In high school, I put this song on repeat to help me sleep. It's simultaneously soothing and sexy. That guitar riff at the end? You don't need to be intoxicated to enjoy that.

5. "Let's Get It On" by Marvin Gaye - Speaking of sexy... Marvin Gaye defined swag. So soulful it hurts. If a guy turned this on and danced with me, I'm his. Forever.

6. "Baba O'Riley (Teenage Wasteland)" by The Who - Another incredible build-up. The first time I heard the piano drop on the electronic intro music was one of the most mind-blowing musical moments of my life.

7. "Because" by The Beatles - Harmonies until I die. Again, the lyrics mystify me, but I don't care. It's haunting and beautiful - with or without the background music.

8. "Con Te Partiro" by Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman - Another beautiful song. I can't separate this song from my image of the gorgeous Bellagio fountains. Italian makes for some beautiful sound combinations. Do I even need to mention the talent of Andrea Bocelli? He might be the voice of God himself.

9. "Under Pressure" by Queen and David Bowie - The unmistakable bass line (thanks a lot, Vanilla Ice) paired with the piano and beat? Then, add in the majesty of Freddie Mercury and the creepiness of David Bowie? Classic. I get the chills every single time I hear, "This is our last dance. This is ourselves under pressure," at the end.

10. "Bittersweet Symphony" by The Verve - I had a really hard time narrowing this list down to ten songs, but eventually decided this song made the cut. I've always loved music, but this song seemed to find me at the perfect time in my adolescence. Again, it's the layers. The violin on the beat with the melody. So poetic and so true.

So, what is YOUR favorite song? If you can't choose one, I'd love to hear five. ;)

New Year's Eve madness.

My New Year's Eve weekend was a complete whirlwind.

Jenn, Mr. Koenig, and I left for Memphis late on Friday night.

We started Saturday early with a pre-game party for the Liberty Bowl. There was a band (that played good classic rock and tons of Elvis), a delicious BBQ buffet, an open bar, and the UC band and cheerleaders came in to pump everyone up.

The game itself was incredible. The weather was perfect (around 65º) and we had front row seats in the end zone. Much to my surprise, tons of UC fans made the trip down to Memphis. UC ended up beating Vanderbilt, 31-24, in a back-and-forth, mostly defensive battle. I also got to try out my new camera.







Oh yeah - KC & the Sunshine Band played at halftime, too.



...and Jenn loves mascots almost as much as she loves Welsh Corgis and glitter.



After the game, we recuperated in the hotel room before heading out to Beale Street. As you'd expect, Beale Street was crowded and insane. We walked up and down the street a few times, people-watched (the crowd was mostly made up of UC and Vanderbilt fans), listened to all kinds of live music, and did the Cupid Shuffle in the street.





We also ate dinner at Dyer's. I make it a point to go everywhere that Adam Richman from Man vs. Food has been, so we braved the line for some pretty delicious deep-fried burgers. Apparently, they've been using the same grease for their burgers since 1912 and lock it in a vault at night to keep it safe. Whatever they do, it works. Bring on the yummy heart attack.



I also took part in another Memphis tradition. Every year, visitors to Beale Street "bury their blues" on New Year's Eve. People write down the things that went wrong for them in the last year on a piece of paper, throw it in a coffin, and Beale Street buries it. So, I wrote a short novel and threw my no good, awful year away. Good riddance.



At midnight, the Hard Rock Cafe dropped a guitar (instead of a ball) and showered the crowd with confetti during a fireworks display. Not bad, Memphis. Not bad.



Since I had no one to kiss at midnight, I kissed the year goodbye. I'm more than ready for what's next...and with the Bengals making the playoffs yesterday, this year already looks more promising.

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.